"A leisurely breakfast" their mother would admonish, "aids digestion and builds strong bones..." so what with the imposed inactivity every morning, boredom broken only by Sockeye the family Spaniel, whose want of table manners coincided very conveniently with mealtimes... as he paced restlessly under the table, slobbering indiscriminately in his daily scramble to devour every dangling morsel before supply and demand shut up shop for the night and went home, far tastier... he gobbled down the latest offering of egg white, than the remnants of his own dietary allowance, they just had to get the timing right that was all, or risk loosing a finger, or gaining one depending upon who was doing the dangling, or who was doing the gobbling... he gave an indignant sneeze, not so much a hint but more of a... 'what's with the pepper malarky...' So that it was only with a good deal of snappy hand coordination, lengthy digestion and sturdy bone building that Rocky was finally able to extricate himself from the table and make the most of what little time remained until lunchtime, meagre time indeed for the Rocky's of this world to hang around with their dogs, leaving their little sisters to help mums do, whatever it was that girls usually did when they should have scooted out of the kitchen faster, when it would have been all so much simpler just to grab a handful of biscuits instead... Meanwhile, laying in wait in the room above, flat out upon the bedroom counterpane, having recently had their insides stuffed to bursting with a full English breakfast's worth of beach and holiday apparal... and that was just the luggage.

The contents of which, up until a week last washday had been snoozing fitfully behind 'Do Not Disturb' signs, cautiously peeping out from the gloomier, more remote recesses of the bedroom dresser, or carefully concealed in cupboards and closets... and being in every other respect by no means readily accessible to public scrutiny of any kind... had been left to their own devices some twelve months earlier with a clear understanding to skip bath nights from that moment on and henceforth immerse themselves in the heady, camphorated pungency of mothball, vowing once and for all never to darken portmanteau lids again... but now, after many hours of arduous laundering and de-fumigation... were now being squeezed and unceremoniously shoe-horned into what had recently become nothing short of an overcrowded sanctuary for the dispossessed.

Meanwhile, all the luggage asked from life other than be detained under section four of the Mental Health Act, 1983 and be found cosy padded accommodation elsewhere... was to have their interiors vacated, their tranquility reinstated... and with a questionable wink from a dodgy Customs official, have their travel permits invalidated... irrevocably, for despite throwing a double six for a spot of well earned convalescence back on top of the wardrobe some twelve months ago, basking in the shade of a warm Summer Sun, striking up the occasional conversation with the floral decor, third bloom from the left currently answering to the name of Petunia, the still over extended luggage, seemingly with little hope of R & R this side of the letter Q, faced the perennial disquiet of vacational therapy, of being knelt on, sat and bounced upon and be specifically manhandled in ways that matching sets of co-ordinated luggage should not...

Tina could be heard quite distinctly in the next street concerning her husbands lack of competence, whilst Red it appeared had become just as outspoken as his wife in that particular direction... as the local self appointed busybody, who lived well within earshot of the address in question would bear witness to as she put feverish pen to paper, writing to what had become a regular... and some would say hot bed of intrigue in the local tabloid concerning how vociferous the once tranquil neighbourhood had become of recent and how certain undesirable elements within the community were to be heard carrying on alarmingly at all hours, day and night... and as she diligently weighed her civic duty against simple household economics as to whether to send this latest block busting eye opener by first or second class post, their parents could now be heard broadcasting, if anything to a wider listening audience than the previous newsflash, some of the more sensational episodes of the previous twenty-four hours as to who was pulling whose suitcase zipper now... although in which direction it should be pulled, they both agreed, wasn't for public disclosure at that time... vowing to draw blood well before the day was out, as three lacerated fingers would later testify and that it was only because of the children that they were going at all... but God willing, they would be setting off very shortly with rosy smiles on their faces for the sole benefit of the neighbours, even if it killed them.

Spurred to fever pitch by this latest 'stop-the-press' newsflash, the same public spirited busybody now threw herself wholeheartedly into further award winning journalism and for the second time that morning took to pen and paper, only now directed to the gossip column in the local Parish Gazette, followed by grievous lamentations of impending bloodshed to the incumbent Chief Constable as to how they'd all be murdered in their beds ere long before nightfall.

By devouring his water bowl, thereby dispensing with the need for it to be washed and by its abrupt and mysterious absence, disposing of all further incriminating evidence as to where the abundant supply of liquid, now surging copiously across the kitchen floor had sprung from... the flash-flood was hastily making its own getaway beneath the kitchen units, leaving Sockeye to his own devices to carry the can on his own, ankle deep in what up until earlier that morning had been sloshing around quite contentedly in Eccup reservoir.

Having inadvertently released the handbrake in a boyish gesture of bravado, thereby placing himself in sole charge of a runaway vehicle, Sockeye it appeared was not the only member of the Salmon family to have dropped himself right in it that day as Rocky, having unwittingly placed the following ten years pocket money well out of reach and back into the pockets of his parents dwindling resources, had to a far greater extent nominated himself for the same Earth moving experience as the one his mum would shortly be giving Sockeye...

Having just been granted licence to do whatsoever it pleased, the vehicle began its leisurely rearwards perambulation down the long garden driveway and by way of small thanks for its new found independence took Rocky along for the ride where due to a certain lack of stature on Rocky's part, at no point had he ever been in the slightest position to influence the Holiday threatening train of events which now engulfed him, never thinking to reapply the handbrake... that would be too easy, he perched on the edge of the seat clutching the steering wheel and stretched out his sturdy little legs in an heroic, but futile attempt to reach the pedals as the family car, which up until any second now had been his fathers pride and joy, pitched backwards at what seemed to Rocky, breakneck speed and directly into a very severe and unforgiving brick wall.

Almost missing this latest round of entertainment above that of her parents most recent exchange, River accompanied by Sockeye scampered outdoors and slap into what could only be described as the most fun she'd had all year as an unsuspecting "what was that noise" muscled its way through the open bedroom window and fell flat on its face in the garden below and which, if that morning to date was anything to go by, then the neighbourhood would soon be tuning in to the latest Salmon family's 'hot-off-the-press' breaking news bulletin.

Opening her mouth River hesitated as she fine-tuned the speech centres of her young and delicate synapse into full vocal alignment, then adjusting shutter speed from f8 to automatic she closed her mouth... then opened it once again and informed her brother that if the tip of dads size 9 was an Olympic gold, then Rocky would be sure to take first in the 110 metre hurdling event with 'team GB...' and could she have his autograph... with those words of solid encouragement rattling around his ears like the last biscuit in an otherwise empty tin box, River went skipping back into the house to announce the latest newsflash of her parents next financial happening... which she felt certain would prompt further rounds of thought provoking front page journalism.

A steady two hours drive away, over on the east coast, the inhabitants of a sleepy fishing community were gainfully employed, pretty much as any other, going about their daily business, one such denizen... a baby crustacean, currently marooned by the tide had taken up temporary accommodation in a beachfront rock-pool property of certain distinction, was as yet unaware of a completely different and obscure set of circumstances that would shortly be rearing his slobbering jowls and bring all four paws, the size of dinner plates, crashing down upon the unsuspecting seashore fauna... was determined while she waited to catch the next high tide home, that until such time that the right wave rolled along, would potter about in the little rock-pool, perhaps indulge herself in a leisurely bathe... and catch up on a spot of therapeutic knitting.

So, placing the days events since breakfast into perspective... [i] the vehicle indemnity provider, henceforth to be named 'the party of the first part', who currently weren't cognisant of an impending claim to date, would shortly be laying eggs attempting to squirm out of all liability, due to [ii] the automobile, driven by a minor, fortunately for Salmon senior on private land and henceforth, the aforementioned to be called 'the third party, to the party of the second part...' which urgently needed rigorous cosmetic attention to the rear tail light cluster and surrounding bodywork so as to maintain a favourable resale mark-up price. [iii] Having been dragged kicking and screaming from the top of the wardrobe, the luggage had rapidly developed cold feet and cried sudden illness in the family, but were being taken to the Wake anyway. [iv] Wrapped around the hot water cylinder since the previous Summer, the various sundry items of holiday apparel stood united, resolute as a Union Picket line not be seen dead looking as though they'd never so much as seen the bottom of a flat-iron. [v] Both Red and his wife, Tina, despite wearing the same anaemic smile as the one show to the neighbours as they departed, travelling counter clockwise along the crescent so as not to unduly advertise their recent misadventure with the garage wall, were only going for the sake of the children, whilst [vi] River and her errant brother didn't want to go anyway dismayed at leaving the television set behind, were already missing their favourite programs, which only really left [vii]'mans-best-friend' who, when he wasn't actually hanging over the front seat giving dad big sloppy licks as though... 'are we nearly there yet' or perhaps... 'I need to stop and spend a penny... or you'll all know about it if you don't,' was more than content to be taking up the majority of the rear seating arrangements and with a delinquent wag of his tail, was deliriously happy to be wherever his family were.**

The night before,20 below zeroFahrenheitwith the wind chill;as the blizzard of 99lay in mountainsof blackening snow.

I packed two coats,two suits,three sweaters,multiple sets of long johnsand heavy white socksfor a two-day stay.

I left from Newark.**** the denseness,it confounds!

The 2nd City to whom?2nd ain’t bad.It’s pretty good.If you considerPeking and Prague,Tokyo and Togo,Manchester and Moscow,Port Au Prince and Paris,Athens and Amsterdam,Buenos Aries and Johannesburg;that’s pretty good.

What’s going on here today?It’s friggin frozen.To the bone!

But Chi Town is still cool.Buddy Guy’s is open.Bartenders mixing drinks,cabbies jamming on their breaks,honey dew waitresses serving sugar,buildings swerving,fire tongued preachers are preachingand the farmers are measuring the moon.

The lake,unlike Ontariois in the midst of freezing.Bones of icethreaten to gelinto a solid massover the expanseof the Michigan Lake.If this keeps up,you can walkclear to Torontoon a silver carpet.

Along the shorethe ice is permanent.It’s the first big frostof winterafter a longIndian Summer.

Thank GodI caught a cab.Outside I hearThe Hawknippin hard.It’ll get your ear,finger or toe.Bite you on the nose tooif you ain’t careful.

Thank God,I’m not walkingthe Wabash tonight;but if you do cover up,wear layers.

Chicago,could this beSandburg’s City?

I’m overwhelmedand this is my tenth time here.

It’s almost better,sometimes it is better,a lot of times it is betterand denser then New York.

Ask any Bull’s fan.I’m a Knickerbocker.Yes Nueva York,a city that has placed lastin the standingsfor many years.Except the last two.Yanks are # 1!

Down stream other holy citiesfrom the Mississippi deltaall mapped by him.

Its mouth our Dixie Trumpetguarded by righteous Cajun brethren.

Midwest?Midwest from where?It’s north of Caracas and Los Angeles,east of Fairbanks,west of Dublinand south of not much.

Him,who spoke of honest menand loving women.Working men and mothersbearing citizens to build a nation.The New World’sprecocious adolescentcaught in a streamof endless and exciting change,much pain and sacrifice,dedication and loss,pride and tribulations.

From him we knowall the people’s faces.All their stories are told.Never defeating theidea of Chicago.

Sandburg had the courage to saywhat was in the heart of the people, who:

Defeated the Indians,Mapped the terrain,Aided slavers,Fought a terrible civil war,Hoisted the barges,Grew the food,Whacked the wheat,Sang the songs,Fought many wars of conquest,Cleared the land,Erected the bridges,Trapped the game,Netted the fish,Mined the coal,Forged the steel,Laid the tracks,Fired the tenders,Cut the stone,Mixed the mortar,Plumbed the line,And laid the bricksOf this nation of cities!

Like I said, I’m aDevil Fan from Jerseyand Madison Avenuehas done its work on me.

It’s a strange alchemythat changesa proud Nation of Blackhawksinto a merchandising bonanzaof hometown hockey shirts,making the native seem alien,and the interloper at home chillin out,warming his feet atop a block of ice,guzzling Old Stylewith clicker in hand.

Give him his beerand other diversions.If he bowls with his buddy’son Tuesday nightI hope he bowlsa perfect game.

He’s earned it.He works hard.Hard work and faithbuilt this city.

And it’s not just the faiththat fills the citiesthousand churches,temples andmosques on the Sabbath.

3.There is faith in everything in Chicago!

An alcoholic broker named Billlives the Twelve Stepsto banish fear and loathingfor one more day.Bill believes in sobriety.

A tug captain named Moewaits for the spring thawso he can get the barges up to Duluth.Moe believes in the seasons.

A farmer named Tomhopes he has reaped the lastof many bitter harvests.Tom believes in a new start.

A homeless man named Earlwills himself a cot and a hotat the local shelter.Earl believes in deliverance.

A Pullman porternamed Georgeworks overtimeto get his first bornthrough medical school.George believes in opportunity.

A folk singer named Woodysings about hiscountrymen inheritanceand implores them to take it.Woody believes in people.

A Wobbly named Joeorganizes fellow steelworkersto fight for a workers paradisehere on earth.Joe believes in ideals.

A bookkeeper named Edithis certain she’ll see the Cubswin the World Seriesin her lifetime.Edith believes in miracles.

An electrician named ****saves moneyto bring his family over from Gdansk.**** believes in America.

A banker named Leahknows Ditka will returnand lead the Bearsto another Super Bowl.Leah believes in nostalgia.

A cantor named Samuelprays for another 20 yearsso he can properly trainhis Temple’s replacement.

Samuel believes in tradition.A high school girl named Sallyrefuses to get an abortion.She knows she carriessomething special within her.Sally believes in life.

A city worker named Mazieceaselessly praysfor her incarcerated sondoing 10 years at Cook.Mazie believes in redemption.

A jazzer named Bixhelps to invent a new art formout of the mist.Bix believes in creativity.

An architect named Frankrestores the Rookery.Frank believes in space.

A soldier named Ikefights wars for democracy.Ike believes in peace.

A Rabbi named Jessesermonizes on Moses.Jesse believes in liberation.

Somewhere in Chicagoa kid still believes in Shoeless Joe.The kid believes inthe integrity of the game.

An Imam named Louisis busy building a nationwithin a nation.Louis believes inself-determination.

A teacher named Heidigives all she has to her students.She has great expectations for them all.Heidi believes in the future.

4.Does Chicago have a future?

This city,full of cowboysand wildcattersis predicatedon a future!

Bang, bangShoot em upStake the claimIt’s your terrainDrill the holeStrike it richTop it offYou’re the bossTake a chanceWatch it waneTry againHeavenly gains

Chicagocity of futuresis a Holy Meccato all day traders.

Their skin is gray,hair disheveled,loud ties andfunny coats,thumb throughslips of paperheld by nailchewed hands.Selling promiseswith no derivative valuefor out of the money callsand in the money puts.Strike is not a labor actionin this city of unionists,but a speculators mark,a capitalist wish,a hedgers bet,a public debtand a farmersfair return.

Indexes for everything.Quantitative modelsthat could burst a kazoo.

You know the measureof everything in Chicago.But is it truly objective?Have mathematics banishedsubjective intentions,routing it in fair practiceof market efficiencies,a kind of scientific absolution?

I heard that thereis a dispute brewingover the amount of snowfallthat fell on the 1st.

The mayor’s office,using the official city rulermeasured 22”of snow on the ground.

The National Weather Servicesays it cannot detect morethen 17” of snow.

The mayor thinkshe’ll catch less heatfor the trains that don’t runthe buses that don’t arriveand the schools that stand emptywith the addition of 5”.

The analysts sayit’s all about capturing liquidity.

Liquidity,can you place a great lakeinto an eyedropper?

Its 20 belowand all liquid thingsare solid massesor a gooey viscosity at best.

Water is frozen everywhere.But Chi town is still liquid,flowing fasterthen the digital blipsflashing on the wallsof the CBOT.

Dreamsare never frozen in Chicago.The exchanges tradewithout missing a beat.

Oil from the Sultan of Brunei,Yen from the land of Hitachi,Long Bonds from the Fed,nickel from Quebec,platinum and palladiumfrom Siberia,FTSE’s from Londonand crewel cane from Havanacircle these pits.

Tijuana,Shanghaiand Istanbul'sbest tradersare only half as goodas the average trader in Chicago.

Chicago,this hog butcher to the world,specializes in packaging and distribution.

Men in blood soaked smocks,still count the headsentering the gates of the city.

Their handiworkis sent out on bargesand rail lines as frozen packagesof futureswaiting for deliveryto an anonymous counterpartyhalf a world away.

This nation’s hubhas grown into thepremier purveyorto the world;along all the rivers,highways,railwaysand estuariesit’s tentacles reach.

5.Sandburg’s Chicago,is a city of the world’s people.

Many striver rows composeits many neighborhoods.

Nordic stoicism,Eastern European orthodoxyand Afro-Americancalypso vibrationsare three of many cordsstrumming the stringsof Chicago.

Sandburg’s Chicago,if you wrote foreveryou would only scratch its surface.

People wait for trainsto enter the city from O’Hare.Frozen tearslock their eyesonto distant skyscrapers,solid chunksof snot blocks their noseand green icicles of slimecrust mustaches.They fight to breathe.

Sandburg’s Chicagois The Land of Lincoln,Savior of the Union,protector of the Republic.Sent armiesof sons and daughters,barges, boxcars,gunboats, foodstuffs,cannon and shotto raze the southand stamp out succession.

Old Abe’s biographyare still unknown volumes to me.I must see and read the great words.You can never learn enough;but I’ve been to Washingtonand seen the man’s memorial.The Free World’s 8th wonder,guarded by General Grant,who still keeps an eye on Richmondand a hand on his sword.

Through this American winterAbe ponders.The vista he surveys is dire and tragic.

Our sitting Presidentimpeachedfor lying about a *******.

Party partisansin the senate are sworn and seated.Our Chief Justice,adorned with golden barswill adjudicate the proceedings.It is the perfect counterpointto an ageless Abe thinkingwith malice toward noneand charity towards all,will heal the woundsof the nation.

Past, present and futurehas no meaningin the Citadelof the Prairie today.

I set my watchto Central Standard Time.

Stepping intothe hotel lobbythe conciergewith oil smooth hair,perfect tieand English liltimpeccably asks,“Do you know where you are going Sir?Can I give you a map?”

He hands me one of Chicago.I see he recently had his nails done.He paints a green linealong Whacker Drive and says,“turn on Jackson, LaSalle, Wabash or Madisonand you’ll get to where you want to go.”A walk of 14 or 15 blocks from Streeterville-(I start at The Chicago White House.They call it that because Hillary Rodhamstays here when she’s in town.Its’ also alleged that Stedmaneats his breakfast herebut Oprahas never been seenon the premises.I wonder how I gained entryinto this place of elite’s?)-down into the center of The Loop.

Stepping out of the hotel,The Doormansporting the epaulets of a colonelon his corporate winter coatand furry Cossack hatswaddling his round black faceaccosts me.

The skin of his faceis flaking fromthe subzero windburn.

He asks mewith a gapped toothy grin,“Can I get you a cab?”“No I think I’ll walk,” I answer.“Good woolen hat,thick gloves you should be alright.”He winks and lets me pass.

Like discerningthe layers of this city,even many layers,still not enoughto understandthe depth of meaningof the heartof this heartland city.

Sandburg knew the city well.Set amidst groves of suburbsthat extend outward in every direction.Concentric circlessurround the city.After the burbs come farms,Great Plains, and mountains.Appalachians and Rockiesare but mere molehillsin the city’s back yard.It’s terra firmastops only at the sea.Pt. Barrow to the Horn,many capes extended.

On the peripheryits appendages,its extremities,its outward extremes.All connected by the idea,blown by the incessant windof this great nation.The Windy City’s messageis sent to the world’s four corners.It is a message of power.English the worldscommon languageis spoken here,along with Ebonics,Espanol,Mandarin,Czech,Russian,Korean,Arabic,Hindi­,German,French,electronics,steel,cars,cartoons,rap,sports­,movies,capital,wheatand more.

Always more.Much much morein Chicago.

2.Sandburgspoke all the dialects.

He heard them all,he understoodwith great precisionto the finest tolerancesof a lathe workers micrometer.

I wonder if Old Man Wrigleywatched his bargesloaded with spearmintand double-mintmove out onto the lakefrom one of those Gothic windowsperched high above the street.

Would he open a windowand shout to the men belowto quit slaking and work harderor would hebetween the snapping soundhe made with his mouthfull of his chewing gumoffer them ticketsto a ballgame at Wrigley Fieldthat afternoon?

Would the men belowbe able to understandthe man communingfrom such a great height?

I listen to a manand woman conversing.They are one step behind meas we meander along Wacker Drive.

"You are in Chicago now.”The man states with profundity.“If I let you goyou will soon find your levelin this city.Do you know what I mean?”

No I don’t.I think to myself.What level are you I wonder?Are you perched atopthe transmission spireof the Hancock Tower?

What ishis intention?Is it a warningof a broken affair?A pending pink slip?Advise to an addictrefusing to adhereto a recovery regimen?

What is his level anyway?Is he so high and mighty,Higher and mightierthen this great citywhich we are all a part of,which we all helped to build,which we all needin order to keep this nationthe thriving democraticempire it is?

This seditious talk!

3.The Loop’s Elstill courses throughthe main thoroughfares of the city.

People are transportedabove the din of the street,looking downon the common pedestrianslike me.

He knewthe rhythm of lifethe people walked to.The tools they used,the dreams they dreamedthe songs they sang,the things they built,the things they loved,the pains that hurt,the motives that grew,the actions that destroyedthe prayers they prayed,the food they atetheir moments of death.

The Bluescame to this city,on the wingof a chirping bird,on the tapsof a rickety train,on the blastof an angry saxrushing on the wind,on the Westend blitzof Pop's brash coronet,on the tink ofa twinkling pianoon a paddle-wheel boatand on the stringsof a lonely man’s guitar.

The Blueswill forever live in her.As I turn the cornerto walk the Miracle MileI see her engulfedin a funnel cloud of salt,snow and bitsof white paper,swirling around herand her childrenin an angryunforgivingmaelstrom.

The familybegins todissolvelike a snailsprinkled with salt;and a motherand her childrenjust disappearinto the pavementat the cornerof Dearborn,in Chicago.

He enters looking bedraggled, tired and worn out, his skin like vellum, blank and pale.Lifting his eyes to catch their gaze he gives a slight nod to acknowledge their presence.He scans the room as he would a poem seeking an indent that leads to a quiet corner.A half-lit light casts a shadow on the flock wallpaper, ink stained.He sits hidden from view, away from plagiaristic eyes. Head In handScribbling while listening for a new word, a muse sings, emanating an un-heardBeat that guides his rhythm while searching for that elusive vowel. On the floorIs a scattering of pencil shavings and broken lead, frustration at the loss of an adjective.The half rhyme squeezes like a tourniquet on the brain…Frustration runs high as enjambment slips off the page and gathers in reflective pools.

The Lay Pastoral reads an Elegy to the passing of Sir Rondeau Redouble, he lead a very lonely life ascending and then diminishing becoming less Didactic, the Footle holds a Lanterne for the loss, while the Limerick found it quite humorous.

At the bar a Stanza of poets gather, disciples of Villanelle, and regale of their latest triumphs in Women’s Quarterly. Then silence falls as Suzette Prime performs her latest Burlesque she is in good Shape. The Epulaeryu’s compare their Diamante while eating their babba ghanoosh. At the pool table the movers and shakers decant opinions on the latest ‘form’ something to do with A,E,I,O,U…Acrostic looks it up and down looking puzzled, Blank verse remains silent,

They dissect, analyse the entrails, the faint hearted feel a little Grook. The atmosphere is tense. Verbs drift like dust in the light, causing confusion, they mop their brows with a tired senryu. The haiku’s have little to say on the matter…

A Quintain of intellectuals quietly sit, the Sicilian sipping slim line Monoku’s (no ice) hoping for a Couplet before the end of the night. On a stool sit’s the barfly spilling his Bio over the counter top exposing an Ode-ious life, metaphorically speaking. On stage the hottest group in town… Chant Royal and the Syllables… singing their latest Sestina it reached 39 in the hit parade, the notes drift across the room resting on the floor congealing into a poet-tree fountain…they feel at home as the last act MC McWhirtle enthrals with his latest Ballad…the barman Ric Tameter calls time, the evening is a Rap. The club is Epic…

Everything is so tight.Jeans, leggings, dresses, shirts, skirts, jacketsand summer wear is even worse and more revealing withcrop tops, shorts, and even shorter skirts and dresses.How are we all able to breathe?Victorian fashion had corsetsand those made them faint!So why does the fashion have to be tight?Don't get me wrong,I do like skinny jeans, and tight shirts and dressesI am a girl after all,we all give in to the status quo of fashion at times.But, sizes are even smaller now than they were before.I haven't gained or lost weight,my waist size hasn't changed,nothing has.Except for the clothes.Are we trying to make women smaller and thinnerby just shrinking the clothes?It should not be ¨Survival of the fittest¨in the dressing rooms.That isn't cool.Also, why are the pants so short?I have long legs, okay,and because my waist size matches someone who is smaller than methen that must mean that I am shortaccording to clothes.Therefore I have difficulty finding pantsthat fit my waistand my legs.I am not blind to my surroundings.Every single girlGoes. Through. This.We all have shopping woes,some worse than others.We all gain uncomfortable experienceswhether it be from something not fitting,or from the attention on the streetsthat we get for wearing it.Then of course, don't forget the media!Remember all those pictures of perfect peoplebeing shoved down our throatsstrangling us until we accept the factthat we should be just like them.

Suffocation is the latest fashion,and we are expected to wear it well.

He'd been conceived in Flamborough, so his little sister assured him some eleven summers ago, which was a tad hard for Rocky to swallow, she was a whole eighteen months his junior and then some... and at that age, well... what did she know, she was only a kid, "on this very rock" River insisted, kicking her heels in delight, "next to this very rock pool" they were both sitting beside, "one sunny afternoon eleven years ago..." and that was how he came by the name of Rocky... she taunted as the rest of the colourful story unfolded... and that she had it all on the best possible authority... although the more she thought about it, had she meant concealed... she wasn't quite sure now, it was all so very confusing at her tender age but thought it sounded close enough not to matter too much and that she would just wait and see which way the wind blew.

It was conceivably an ill wind that blew no one any good that day, especially if you were a boy and just happened to be sat by a rock pool next to your little sister... Having just taken a well earned drink from a neighbouring rock pool, Sockeye the floppiest Springer Spaniel this side of the Pecos decided that he was going to dig a hole and that he would be digging it deep, then changed his mind mid-dig and decided to have a more down to earth back scratching wriggle instead... then promptly flopped over and slid into the hole... life was sweet. Now covered from nose to tail with every species of deceased shore life usually found frequenting the high water mark Sockeye, in a blinding flash of canine inspiration judged it would be in everyone's best interest were he to have a really good shakedown which always appeared to go down well on these occasions... and give everyone a good peppering, just so they could see exactly what they'd been missing all their lives.

"A rock of all places, for goodness sakes..." and what's more, it was this rock, "Yuk..." he jumped up and wiped his palms on the back of his jeans in disgust, then onto his tee-shirt, then sat back down again and began exploring his left nostril in quiet contemplation before finally jambing his hands back into his pockets... what in Heaven's name had his parents been thinking of..? what on earth was his little sister talking about..? and more to the point, what in fact did conceived mean..? these were the questions that were uppermost in Rocky's mind as he poked an exploratory stick into the rock pool... a baby crab marooned by the tide scampered sideways beneath a large pebble and stuck one beady eye out at him... Rocky's sister, seemingly in a world of her own, much like the baby crab sat on the edge of the noteworthy rock kicking her heels, an innocent smile curled the corners of her mouth as she quietly hummed a little song of tuneful bliss to herself and considered what further mischief she could possibly pass her brother's way.

Rocky tossed a piece of driftwood over his sisters shoulder at a nearby flock of seagulls, squabbling over what appeared to be a discarded bag of fish and chips... Sockeye, simply knowing that his little master wanted to play a game of fetch gambolled after the stick, his ears flying courageously in the still Summer air and burst, amid a melee of feathers into their midst, only to romp back moments later, the stick all but forgotten in the excitement but now proudly sporting the derelict bag of leftovers and the odd splash of guano, his tail lolloping magnificently from side to side... and for the moment at least, leaving the fratching seagulls wheeling noisily overhead and to go about their daily business without further interruption... as for Sockeye, it had been a no contest situation.

After fourteen years of valiant endeavour his father... Red, so named for his vivid shock of wiry hair, was still engaged in man's eternal struggle to win his significant other half's approbation with the manful art of deck-chair assembly, beach barbeque and other significant gentlemanly pursuits, all while strutting his manly stuff, sporting top of the range beach wear in accordance with the social etiquette of the previous decade... his masculine paunch slumping gallantly atop his waistband...

After the same fourteen terms of domestic servitude and the same thirteen identically overlooked anniversary cards a certain someone had no intention of allowing another certain someone to forget so much as one of them... his better half, so she insisted would ride rough shod, administering her own brand of justice at every given opportunity, in much the same way you'd brandish a royal-flush on poker night... or better still, a loaded revolver... and that she personally carried the burden of every ill-fated card that Lady Luck had dealt strung about her neck like Adam's original sin on Judgement Day.

Red much preferred the shorter, more condensed name of Rock for his son, rather than the longer more protracted Rocky, as he struggled with the wood and canvas lounger badly trapping the mound of his thumb in the process, "Aaargh...!!!" plunging his throbbing hand deep into the cold, soothing rock-pool "aaah...!!!" Still marooned by the tide, the baby crab stood poised and ready for action as it considered giving this latest intrusion a good offensive nip, then hang on spitefully as it gave Red the final withering once over with the same baleful eye it had successfully used earlier.

Acknowledging her husbands misfortune with a perfunctory grunt as she rummaged in her beach-bag for the thermos, she refused to be drawn in where thumbs were concerned right now, after all with his DNA sequencing she was convinced he could probably grow a new one within the month... whilst Tina, well... she was just plain worn-out... but still rejoiced in telling anyone who cared to lend a sympathetic ear in her direction... and who in turn was more than happy to listen to the woes of others and went somewhere along the lines of... 'and had she heard any more of poor Mrs Dorey's lingering martyrdom recently..? you know, the downtrodden lady who lives in the next street but one... and how they would all miss her when she was gone... and how she couldn't wait...' and as rumour had it, neither could her husband...

Feigning to be otherwise engaged, Tina... as her husband, now blowing frantically on his mangled thumb, stumbled backwards over the half erected lounger and with a spine jarring "Ooomph...!!!" landed squarely in Sockeye's subsiding earthworks... professed total disassociation with the entire fiasco as she plunged her nose even deeper into the overdue library book she'd purposely brought on holiday for just such an occasion, making it perfectly clear that she was a tourist and furthermore, planned to stick with the same itinerary once they returned home... and that while she was here, she did not under any circumstances wish to be disturbed, the notice was clearly displayed hanging from the door handle... but if anyone should, then whoever it was did so at their own peril... and she was keeping score... although a mangled thumb she luxuriated, with the same roguish smile curling the corners of her mouth as the one normally found playing around her daughter's... was equally as heart warming.

All Tina wanted was one week of uninterrupted peace and quiet in Flamborough, preferably with a certain someone out from under her feet then spend what might pass for several undisturbed hours sitting quietly by the rock pool comparing notes on eye makeup and the feminine merits of pedicure with the little crab who, still marooned by the tide was now sat busily knitting four pairs of matching leg warmers in the cool, still water but that was only if that certain someone... a shrill "AAaargh...!!!" somewhat more desperate than the first, ****** itself upon the as yet unaggressive afternoon as it gyrated across the warm Jurrasic rock and recoiled out to sea... "now where was I", twisting her book uppermost "oh yes..! someone was going to pay..." only now it was going to be sooner rather than later, but only if that certain someone didn't finish the seating arrangements before the Sun disappeared and drift into some backstreet tea-room before all the lemon cheesecake sold out, or was that she reflected, simply too much to ask.

It was his Surname that Rock found so objectionable, or it had been right up until his little sister's enlightening disclosure, now it was both names Rocky disliked, it would have been far kinder had Rock Salmon been sandwiched between sliced bread and given to Sockeye... who's solemn duty, from the first mouthful to the very last, was to gaze up beseechingly from beneath the kitchen table and devour anything that passed his way, even the postman had to be quick about his business or have his arm follow the mail through the letter box... then Sockeye would just smack his lips and help himself to seconds.

All Rocky's mum had thought about for the last fourteen years was seconds... every last solitary one of them since she'd suffered with an infection of matrimonial neurosis which had deprived her of common sense and her maiden name, from Chovey to that of Salmon and how with hindsight she should have taken an Aspirin instead, wedlock she asserted was everything the name claimed to be and was without doubt the worst move she'd ever made... and what's more was seen as a bad move in whoever's wedding album you just happened to be paying your condolences to.

Rocky would never be so fortunate on that score, unlike his sister he was stuck with Salmon for good, his grandma-Ann by all accounts had been dead set against the union from word Go and saw his father as someone who would always be out of his depth in whatever rock pool he found himself in, swimming against the tide as it were, rather than going with the flow... and it appeared that Rocky, almost eleven years into a life sentence, was about to flounder in the same murky undertow as the rest of the Salmon family... only he couldn't swim.

"There"! her husband exclaimed "all finished... better late than never eh', who fancies trying it"? his wife luxuriated over the words 'better late' and wondered whether her new earrings, her latest acquisition would complement formal mourning attire. Red dusted off the palms of his hands with the certain knowledge of a job well done and cautiously took one step back, looking with justifiable pride at the outcome of his manly exertions of the last two hours, this was what holidays were all about he declared, one man pitted against insurmountable odds... His wife meanwhile was getting to grips with more odds of her own than you could safely expect to shake a stick at... her husband being one of them.

Having gathered her offspring with the promise of verbal earache if they didn't... and finished packing the beach-bag, Tina finally located Sockeye peering out from the shade of an adjacent rock, wisps of feathers poked tellingly from the corners of his mouth, his tail beating mischievously on the shingle decided in one further blaze of canine brainstorming, as Tina attempted to slip his collar on that a game of tag would just about round the day off nicely... Tina then devoted the next ten minutes chasing him amid unrestrained salvo's of cheering from the rest of the family... then bid goodbye to the little crab who, still marooned by the tide waved a friendly pincer in return... and trusted that she wouldn't have too long to wait for the next rising tide back home, then she slid off the rock with a corrosive... "the deck-chair attendant would have shown you" she snapped "and don't forget the deposit when you take them back" then double checking that she landed squarely on his foot she marched past, her floral sun hat jammed resolutely on her head at what she considered a jaunty angle with her equally jaunty, angular children scrambling in hot pursuit, back in the direction of their lodgings.

"Woof "..? said a bewildered Sockeye, bringing everyone to an abrupt halt... and with paws the size of place-mats, he wasn't going anywhere he didn't want to... he hunkered down with a look of hurtful accusation on his face, "oh yes you are my lad"! said his mistress "I've met your sort before" and knew exactly where to place the toe of her dainty size-5 as Sockeye, digging his heals in even further created swathes of canine furrows up the beach, leaving her husband the unwitting holder and in sole possession of the overlooked guest-house keys... and somewhat resigned to clean up his own masculinity and dismantle the recently assembled, now redundant deck-chairs by himself... as for Tina, well... she'd had quite enough excitement for one day thank you very much.

Morning register was always the worst he thought, as they trooped back along the shingle beach, Rocky making surprisingly good furrows of his own... but the rest of the class loved it and saw it as the highlight of each day... Rocky's form teacher, despite showing a brave face was always hard pressed to avoid bursting into hysterics every time she worked her way down the register to the letter 'S' and would attempt to bypass it altogether, jumping from 'R' to 'T' and just prayed that no one else had noticed, but it hadn't taken the class very long to point out her oversight and... "please Miss" they'd all chant "we haven't had Salmon all week" and while the rest of the class were having convulsive fits, Rocky would elbow the lad sat at the next desk in the ribs... and promptly get one hundred lines for his trouble... thank goodness it was school holidays. Why couldn't they have been given respectable names like Seymour Legge, Rock wondered, who sat over by the window or perhaps the teachers pet, Anna Prentice or even, Robyn Banks at a pinch, but definitely not what they'd been given and certainly not Salmon, they were the most hilarious names he could imagine and if someone was looking down on them right now he thought... then they had a very unique sense of humour indeed and Rock said so... "why" his little sister asked sweetly, "what's wrong with River Salmon".

when he looks at a woman he searches for qualities that attract him because he wants to desire her yet this tendency creates an imbalance or disadvantage he is rendered weak to a woman’s beauty or whatever traits he idealizes self-realizing this propensity he looks away from women years of disappointment neglect change him he becomes afraid of women gynophobic

2

when she looks at a man she searches for qualities she is critical of because she wants to be impervious to his power she is suspicious of all men their upper body strength penchant to be in control misperception of women as property misogyny emotional immaturity neediness to be mommyed selfishness insensitivity or over-sensitivity depending she wants to be treated with equal respect a loving nurturing relationship she is suspicious of all people their alternate realities passive aggressive behavior co-dependence craziness

3

he sees her then looks away she suspiciously notices nothing happens they go back to their separate homes alone always home alone grown calm in resignation yet disbelieving of this destiny saddened by this fate both worry about future she looks at her face naked body in mirror her stomach churns feels sad sickening remembers time when she was more carefree he puts one foot in front of other then walks tries to remember who taught him to walk how many times did he fall who taught him to laugh where did his sense of humor go

4

he sees her thinks she is lovely resists the urge to turn away he smiles says hello she notices nervously smiles her shaky voice articulates louder than a whisper hi

Tucson 2-step

they are standing in line at a café on 4th avenue he is directly behind her she is lanky wearing white background faded colors patterned summer dress thin straps over bare shoulders long brown hair few gray strands small unfinished tattoo on left calf leather slip-ons 1 inch heals he is at a complete loss for words thinks to make remark about the weather decides not to overhead fan stirs hot humid July air barista girl asks what she would like her eyes scan blackboard menu behind counter she hesitates remarks help him i need an extra moment to decide he steps up to counter money in hand orders small to go Arnold Palmer half black current lays $3 on counter mentions change goes in tip jar thank you barista girl moves fast he lifts cup from counter glances at woman still deciding then at barista girl says have a wonderful day turns walks out door dawns on him woman grows hair under her arms his 2nd most compelling female physique adornment fetish oh god he thinks to himself should i wait for her to make up her mind then approach try to craft conversation at least find out her name no i’m too weak in this moment she is so lovely let her go

2

she orders double Americana in small cup to go room for soy milk thinks to herself he did greet her perhaps their paths will cross on street why did he run off so fast she glances toward front of café notices window seat changes her mind instructs barista ******* 2nd thought make it for here digs through purse realizes she left wallet in truck explains to barista girl she needs to run out to her vehicle to retrieve wallet forgotten under front seat the air on the street is heavy dense she smells her own perspiration looks north then south does not see him walks to truck feels exhausted appetiteless almost nauseous wishes she did not order a drink thinks to get behind wheel drive home go to sleep

Tucson 3-step tango

she feels disappointment by her recent writings as if she is reaching a more sophisticated audience and setting a higher standard for her work yet she is not living up to her ambitions her recent writings smell of her past writings too emotional the damaged woman wounded child she wants to write more introspectively with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence she slams her laptop shut decides to go to Club Congress for a ****** mary or margarita but Club Congress is haunted with small town cretins losers wannabes she considers Maynard’s decides Maynard’s is too safe suburban yuppyish finally gives in to thought of glass of pinot noir at Plush next comes what to wear jeans in mid-July desert heat is unacceptable perhaps loose fitting thin cotton white summer dress thin leather belt ankle high indian moccasins hair in ponytail no pigtail braids no ponytail no makeup maybe little ylang ylang oil no she thinks about her recent writings

2

i am one breath away from crying in every moment one breath away from flying m.i.a. in every moment one breath away from destroying everything there is beauty in ugliness beauty in decrepitude disease beauty in harm hurt suffering beauty in greed injustice betrayal beauty in corruption contamination pollution beauty in hate cruelty ignorance beauty in death we spend our whole lives searching for a good death we spend our whole lives searching for eternal love this modern world is too much for me over my head the horrors of this place are beyond words unspeakable voice inside maybe mom yells quit your whining or dad hollers stop complaining i am trying to smile through tears one breath away from giving in one breath away from becoming stranger to myself winter spring winter spring there is beauty in nothingness we spend our whole lives searching for ourselves learning who we are not finding grasping secrets from dark paths light trails winter spring winter spring i am one breath away

3

she sits alone at bar at Plush glass of pinot noir glass of ice water in front of her 2 bearded older men eye her from other end of bar she ignores them glances at her wristwatch tries to look like she is waiting for someone music from speakers antiquated rock standard it is early friday hours from dusk moderate middle aged crowd mingle wait for local jazz trio to begin she thinks about her recent writings wonders is it too late for love considers lesbian affair from 5 different perspectives 5 woman’s voices each describing same lesbian affair in 5 opposing accounts hmmm she sips dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water she considers a story about a gang of female bikers who ride south to Mexico

she swallows the last dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water local jazz trio begins to play as bar fills with more people she decides to walk home one foot in front of other wonders who taught her how to walk how many times did she fall she laughs to herself

Jess Delaney female 33 years of age race #2 (White) 6’ tight black pencil skirt white sleeveless undershirt no bra 3” heels blond ponytail “that squirting little **** deserves everything she got she lied told Stacy i’m a ***** i never cheated on Brittany i don’t understand we were all having a good time getting buzzed and dancing we should never have left Cactus Moon **** Kerrie thought some biker dude might be hanging around the Bandit hell maybe the Bandit was a biker bar once but now it’s just a college sink hole full of drunken frat boys when Monique flashed a little *** they went crazy cheering and buying us shots it just got out of hand never should have happened the way it happened Stacy didn’t mean to **** Brittany it’s ****** up i want to go home please let me go home”

Sabrina Starn female 29 years of age race #2 (White) 5’8” trendy corporate gray suit black pumps red shoulder length hair “i have to be at work at 8 AM Stacy was drunk out of control she gets crazy when she drinks Brittany was trash talking pushing all Stacy’s buttons then Stacy accused Brittany of sleeping with Monique and all hell broke loose i didn’t see what happened i was in the powder room it’s a terrible tragedy unfortunate accident can i please be released i need to sleep this is madness”

Kerrie Angeles female 27 years of age race #1 (Hispanic) 5’ 6” black pants white shirt black hair cut stylishly short silver crucifix around neck red fingernails “when we got to the Bashful Bandit i was ***** soaking between my legs thinking about a cowgirl at Cactus Moon ready to **** anyone i saw fantasized pulling a train with those frat boys Monique had been kind of quiet at Cactus Moon but when we got to the Bashful Bandit she lit up dancing wild unbuttoning her top jacket Sabrina went to the ladies room to snort coke with biker dude Kerrie wanted but he wasn’t into her then Brittany started saying crazy stuff accusing Stacy of stealing Monique from Jess Jessie goes through women heartlessly she doesn’t give a **** about Monique Jessie knows if she wants Monique back she can simply fiddle a finger my guess is Stacy is half way to Argentina she never meant to **** Brittany i’m going to miss her real bad she was a good kid”

Ann Skyler female 28 years of age race #2 (White) 4’ 11’’ green white red Mexican peasant skirt black t-shirt black high-tops hair in messy bun “i’m confused i saw them dancing laughing grinding up against each other Rage Against the Machine came on then Nine Inch Nails the room felt quaking dizzy claustrophobic then they were pushing each other shoving yelling frat boys cheering the next thing i knew Brittany was supine on the floor blood pouring out maybe she just slipped hit her head i don’t know what to think i feel real sad confused sick to my stomach scared”

Monique Smithson female 24 years of age race # 3 (Black) 5’ 9” blue jeans jean jacket cowboy boots nose ring braided pigtails “Stacy had it in for Brittany from the start i saw it in her eyes at Cactus Moon she made several clever toxic remarks they snapped at each other i never thought it would escalate to ****** poor sweet Brittany was always so susceptible i was looking down adjusting my jeans over my boots when it happened i heard felt a big thump glanced up Brittany was lying there lifeless blood spilling everywhere Stacy ran out fast i heard her bike engine take off in a hurry”

she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary efforts she dreams aches to create deeper discourse higher insight more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration instead she writes paperback television trash stupid inadequate answers to solemn questions she wonders if she is too scratched dented to find love her ******* are definitely changing she is deeply disturbed not ready for menopause too young for menopause she wants to remain a fertile woman with smooth skin wet ******

2

her neighbor Leslie awoke to horrible morning Leslie’s 6 chickens were assaulted overnight precious Mabel dragged off feathers everywhere trail down the street other hens cowering slumped together with wilted necks 3 of them with puncture wounds Leslie carried them one by one inside washed their wounds hugged them cried who did this terrible act a neglected abusive neighborhood cat or some desert predator why didn’t Leslie wake to sounds of savage marauding now this creature knows hen’s whereabouts when will it return for more massacre what modifications need to be enforced to ensure their coup before nightfall

3

she wants to remain a hen keep producing eggs does not want is not ready to enter the next **** stage of this **** existence it was fun being pretty for men inspiring them to say do whacky things she wants to remain a hen she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary attempts “Tucson square dance” (self-referential) ****** bit about Americans came through here last night in “Tucson 3-step” ****** "Rodeo Drive" tepid perhaps the pinot noir lowered her standards everything is becoming nothing she cannot sleep tosses turns thrashes sheets in humid heat of her lonesome bed is she is too scratched dented to find love she worries for Leslie

4

tomorrow is another day they say the rain will come last year’s monsoon never came the baking sun smothered her garden died one by one sleepless she will miss tomorrow’s pilates class the infrequent delightful chatty breakfast afterwards she dreams aches of deeper discourse higher insight with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration she crossed the line tonight her ******* are definitely changing

Tucson 666

he decides to shave eighth to quarter inch length salt and pepper beard a.k.a. unshaven look he has worn for years and grow full mustache the whiskers on his upper lip are darker with sparse gray at first no one notices after weeks the mustache gradually fills evoking many contrasting remarks several women loath it several men admire it girl at grocery store suggests he grow Fu Manchu so she can tug on it shopgirl says he looks like Charlie Chaplin downstairs neighbor from Turkey explains most Turkish men traditionally wear mustaches he read mustaches masculinize and empower men especially men in authoritative positions he thinks back to the 1960’s when many hippie males grew mustaches then in the 70’s gay men fashioned mustaches then in the 80’s cops adopted mustaches he wonders why a swatch of hair beneath nose is so provoking examines his visage in mirror discerns the mustache confers a Pepé le Pew quality or European accent to his appearance he remembers when he was young hippie with many amorous episodes how his mustache preserved the scent of a woman but there are no women in his life for many years do post-menopausal women possess scent? he feels indecisive whether to retain it or be rid of it

2

she observes her figure in mirror thinks to herself maybe her ******* are not changing perhaps it’s all in her head she inspects the little lines forming near her eyelids studies her features for signs of aging hardly any silver strands in long brown hair she examines neck ******* arms elbows fingers tummy hips pelvic region thighs knees shins calves ankles feet detects subtle changes thinks to herself my ******* are possibly slightly changing turned 40 in March married briefly in late teens no children a 15 year old dog beginning to suffer veterinarian promises to warn her when the time comes she wonders why it is so difficult finding fitting mate men sleep with her several times then move on maybe she is not such a great lover perhaps she would be better if one of them stuck around perhaps she is a lesbian the whole ide

IndexThe virus from hell is amusedEnd of the WorldEvery Day I Turn on the NewIrony Meters Blow Gaskets ChaosCorona Virus Fears TankaMy Phobias Overwhelm MeFear Fills the AirIs this the best we can get?More Trouble Every Dayby pass the alarms spreading across the landcorona cinqkuTaking a Walk in the Corona EraA lone man stands in an empty parking lothell of a world we live in ain’t it?Pause for a moment amidst the media madnessI feel as if the whole world needs to be cancelledThe Virus King CriedBring out your deadthe Virus Came From HellThe Delivery System of the Virus is Roundthe corona virus is testing us allthe call goes outthe horsemen begin to ridenature spirits revolts against humanityLast Human on IslandCorona Virus Haiku the virus came from hell bring out your dead cries Be Afraid haiku Death Comes Knocking the virus from Hell haiku

the Virus from Hell is amusedthe Virus from Hell is amusedlaughing at the world’s panicked reactionas it marches through the world unabatedinfecting everyone in its wakeas the world awaits its fatethe virus smiles he ain’t no fakehe is the real dealhe is death itselfhe is the end of the worldthe grim reaper is smilinggod is silent as usualthe world’s leadersdither and ratheras the economy craterseveryone hoping that Godwill save themthe virus does not careinsults and orders do not workthe virus simply does its virus thinginfecting everyone it encountersand thousands will dieequal opportunity offenderkilling the rich and the poor alikebut more poor peoplejust so many more poor peoplethan the few billionairesthe virus smilehis work is doneand mankind is doomedso be it the virus thinks

that is the way of the worldand the virus is the new kingof the world

End of the Worldend of worldthe fears world-widesoon find us deadbring out the deadll the dead diedeath lies here therethere goes hereas death here comessoon here death comes

Every Day I Turn on the Newsdebunking the bioweaapon conspiracy theoriesevery day I turn on the newsnothing but news about the virusthe virus from hellthe world is filled with fearand my anxiety levels riseevery time I turn on the newsoh my god I saywe are all going to dieand I am so afraidafraid of everyoneafraid of everythingdreading the latest newsand nothing relieves my fearI watch the worldloosing its collective mindwondering how much more of thiscan we all takeI scream outDear God save us allgod is silent as usualand so I realizedwe are doomedperhaps it is the end timesperhaps notI turn off the TVtry to stay calmhoping the madnesswill not overwhelm us all

Irony Meters Blow Gaskets the Irony meter gasketis blown again and againwith every statementof our chaos presidentand his endless surrogatespromoting the latest Presidentialon spot guidance by our great leaderthat must be truebecause our dear leadersays it is soThe President accuses his democratic rivalof being senile and needs to be in homeand will be run by his radical left alliesand the right wing mediaechoes the presidential absurd commentsrefusing to acknowledgethat the president himselfis rapidly fading into dementiaand his radical right croniesare looting the governmentdriving out expertiseeven in the midst of pandemicOh yeah the irony metersare blowing gasketsevery single day

Chaosthe world descends into chaosas our world leadersled by the chaos presidentare overwhelmedby the smallestenemy of alla simple virusstraight out of hellblows through the crumblingthird world public health infrastructureliving proof of the decline of Americaand no one is preparedand panic ensureswith every Presidential tweetas people don’t believea word he saysconspiracy rumors spreadeveryone believes their own realityas the world spins out of controlthe chaos king is in his elementconvince that only he knowsthe dealand everyone elseis iust a bit playerin the reality showthat he presides overand so the rest of ushunker downjust hoping for the bestas the panic andchaos spreads fasterthan the virusare we doomedcan we survivewill God save us?he is silent as always

Corona Virus Fears TankaCorona viruslurking fears all around mewe all will diethe TV screaming nonstopMust be afraid be afraid

My Phobias Overwhelm Melately I have become scaredof everythingthe news scares me, the corona virus scares me, the presidential race scares me, fears of gun men in the street, terrorism, fears of getting sick, fears of dogs, fears of other people, fear of loosing money, fears of becoming demented old man, lost in his nightmares on the street just another invisible homeless *** in the end of his lifeall these phobias overwhelm metime to walk away from my fearsand realizeit will be alrighteverything will be alrightAs long as I have youby my side

Fear Fills the Air

watching the newsCNNMSNBCFOXBBCKOREANNEWSJAPANESENEWSBLOOMBERABCCBSNBCGOOGLEA­PPLEREUTERSAPIRUSSIANTVCHINESTVFRENCHTVblather on and onthe world is endingpandemic is comingwe are going to dieand the fear growsand the restrictions growtravel comes to stopthe economy comes to a stopeveryone is so afraidour leaders fretsay that everything is fineas the world entersthe second great depressionand we are facedwith the realityall over the worldidiots in high placesthe masters of the universeare in chargethe internet spreadsthe wildest rumorsmust be trueI read it on the internetthe truth is lostin the shuffleno one believes anyoneeverything thinksthat they knowit is all a conspiracythe thought comes to mindwe are all so ’S….end of the worldis upon us

is this the best we can get?watching the newsone wondershow in this great countryof ours335 million peopleamong the most educatedrichest people in the worldwe can end upwith such idiots in high placesrunning out country?these idiots in chargeno disrespect intendedboth political partiesall corporationsand our institutionsexcept maybe the militaryhas been infectedby this virusof epic incompetencegreed and indifferenceto the general goodwho loudly constantly proclaimthat they are Christianswhile violatingall of Christ's teachingsJesus if he came backwould scream outI am not Christianit is all about meand mineand you can goto hellif you dare to disagreeand so we tweet and titterand watch the newsreading the latest rumorsand I wonderif there is a godor if there is a deviland are we overwhelmedby the dismal newswhy can’t we have betterleadersbetter peoplein our leadersaround the worldhas god abandoned usare we in hellor did god ever existexcept in our fevered imaginationwill god save us allor will the worldjust go around the sunindifferent to our pleas?no answermust watch the newsconsumed by the needto see the latest newsand so it goesand I wake upthe sun is upand the nightmaresfade awayuntil I watch the newsand the madness consumesus all again and againas the corona virusmarches on and onconsuming us allas the world falls apartthese must be the end timesI hope I will be raptured awayeven if I am not a Christian

More Trouble Every DayThe Old Zappa song playson in my headevery time I turn on the newsand see more trouble every dayno one can delaythe trouble coming every dayFrank Zappa died too soonbefore the horrors of the Trump eraand the corona end of the world plaguethat he would have foreseenif he had lived onhe was truly a prophetcrying in the wildnesswhile making moneyas an over night sensationas he saw the slimeoozing out of the TV setswe will do what we are toldfor the rights to us have been soldAnd Jesus toohas been soldto the highest biddernothing but a business dealin Americathe land of the constant dealand so I turn off the TVand realize thatthe torture never endsthe torture never ends

Trouble Every Daymore trouble every day Frank ZappaWell I'm about to get sickFrom watchin' my TVBeen checkin' out the newsUntil my eyeballs fail to seeI mean to say that every dayIs just another rotten messAnd when it's gonna change, my friendsIs anybody's guessSo I'm watchin' and I'm waitin'Hopin' for the bestEven think I'll go to prayin'Every time I hear 'em sayin'That there's no way to delayThat trouble comin' every dayNo way to delayThat trouble comin' every dayWednesday I watched the riot...I seen the cops out on the streetWatched 'em throwin' rocks and stuffAnd chokin' in the heatListened to reportsAbout the whisky passin' 'roundSeen the smoke & fireAnd the market burnin' downWatched while everybodyOn his street would take a turnTo stomp and smash and bash and crashAnd slash and bust…

The Torture Never StopsFrank Zappatorture never stopsFlies all green and buzzin'In this dungeon of despairPrisoners grumblin**** they clothesScratch their matted hairA tiny light from a window-holeHundred yards awayThat all they ever get to know'Bout the regular life in the day'Bout the regular life in the daySlime and rot and rats and snuck***** on the floorFifty ugly soldier menHoldin' spears by the iron doorStinks so bad, stones are chokin'Weepin' greenish dropsIn the den whereThe giant fire puffer worksAnd the torture never stopsThe torture never stops, tortureThe torture never stopsThe torture never stopsFlies all green and buzzin'In this dungeon of despairAn evil prince eats a steamin' pigIn a tumbers right near thereIn the chambers right near thereHe eats de snouts an trotters first!…

by pass the alarms spreading across the landto bypass the alarms spreading across the landthe circuit breakers are breaking downas the alarms go on and onwith the end of the worldthe end days approachingspreading the alarm far and wide

corona cinqkucoronait came from hellwe must be all preparedmeet God

Taking a Walk in the Corona Eraevery day I go for a walkin the spring time woodsnear my housebraving the weatherand the dreaded corona virus wearing masks and gloveskeeping a distancefrom anyone we encounterthat is life it seemsin the era of the corona viruswhen will it endno one knowsuntil thenI will brave the viral threatand confront my fearsand walk in the parkwith the love of my lifemy bride my wifeby my sidein these challenging timesthat is all we can do

A lone man stands in an empty parking lot

contemplating the new normalsocial distancing run amuckas fears of the corona super plagueplague the landdriving everyone insidesheltering in placeafraid to go outafraid of the deadly c virus

It is a hell of a world we live in ain’t it?It is a hell of a world we live in ain’t it?said the old man to mesitting on a benchin the park in the woodsas we both sought shelterfrom the spreading chaosthe pandemic swirling around usYes I saidstanding upto enforce the proper distancebetween usdon’t want to give the virus a chanceto spread between ushe smiled and saidrelax I already went through itI am fine and you will too

Pause for a moment amidst the media madnessPause for a moment amidst the media madnessAll around us fears and chaosUnlike the end of the world approaching usSadness overcomes us dooming us to our fateEvery we go nothing but death awaits

I feel as if the whole world needs to be cancelledI feel as if the whole worldneeds to be canceleddue to rough times aheaddue to the corona madnessand the thread of pure crazinessthat it inspires in us all

The Virus King Cried

the virus king smiledas the politicians liedsaying that the end was nearthe virus king infected thousands moreand killed hundreds of peoplethe virus king sneeredas people panickedand partied on the beachthe virus king infected thousands moreand killed hundreds of peoplethe virus king laughedas the markets crashedmillions became unemployedthe virus king infected thousands moreand killed hundreds of peoplethe virus king roaredas the world slid into chaospeople turning on one anotherthe virus king infected thousands moreand killed hundreds of peoplethe virus king smirkedknowing that there was nothingthat they could do to stophis army from infecting millionsand killing thousandsthe virus King begin to realizethat soon there would be no one leftno one for his army to infectas everyone was dyingthe virus King yelledremaining defiantas civilization collapsedbillions were infectedmillions diedthe Virus King at last criedwhen he saw that he was defeatedas one by onepeople began to recoverand his reign of terror came to an end

Bring out your deadthe call bring out your deadspreads around the worldas millions dieall over the worldthe virus has spreadmutated and killedall over the worldbring out your deadthe mournful criesechoing in the windof the dying citiesmass starvationas no is workingin the fieldsas more people dieand the world spinsaround the sunwith the politicians lyingand the dead still dyingas civilization diesand humanity fleeinto the wildernesschased by the killer virusstraight down to hell

the Virus Came From Hellthe virus came from hellstraight out of a mad labborn and raised in Chinathe virus spread from Dinahall over to carolinait spread from the labthe mad virus of Hellwas mad as hell at humanswho it blamed for everythingseeing itself as cleansing everythingkilling the world and everythingrevenge against humansperhaps virus came from Godmore likely came from Satanpart of natures’ revengeall designed to avengethe damage to Stonehengevirus came from Satan

The Delivery System of the Virus is Roundthe delivery system of the virus is roundvery simple systemthe virus spreads aroundand all must pay the pricedeath and destruction

the corona virus is testing us all

the corona virus is testing us allis it a plaguesent by God

if we have faithwill we recover

or it is beyond our controlthe end of the world

does god hear our prayersdoes god even exist

the virus from hellspreads around the world

and test our faithwill god save us all

I have no answerbut perhaps if god exists

we will recover from this plaguefrom hell

The call goes out

the call goes outstay at hometo beat the dreaded c virus

will we live or all die?

the four horse men ready to ride

the end of the world is upon usas god unleashes the corona viruswhich is spreading across the land

the four horse men are readyto begin their grim journalannouncing the end of the world

the white horse comes firstoffering peace and hopein the midst of deathand despair

the red horse rides secondushering in warthroughout the worldas nations turn on each otherand civil war looms

the Black Horse is readyunleashing famineon a starving worldas people stay at homeand food rots in the field

no one is able to work any moreas the virus kills more and more

the pale horse rides lastbringing death in his wake

death all around usas the virus kills us alland civilization ends

the four horse menhave done their jobthe virus finishes its reign of terrorand the few survivorsbeging to recover

end of the world came and wentand they are still alivethanks to God

who remains silentas always

nature spirits revolt against humanity

all around the worldnature's spirits are on the move

the world is changingas the nature's spiritsrise up in revolt against humanity

is this the end timeis nature on revoltagainst humanity

is this the end for us allwill the virus **** us allwill nature rise up and **** us all?

Last Human on Island

Last human on an islandin the deep blue seanothing therebut death and destruction

virus all aroundpandemic plagueApocalyptic views end of timesdeath of civilization

corona virus

corona virusstaying home waiting for deathAfraid everything the virus came from hell

the virus came from hell staying home waiting for deathAfraid everything Bring Out Your Dead

bring out your dead criesbreak out all over the world we are waiting death

death comes knocking

death comes knocking on our doorsteps tonightwill God hear prayers

be afraid afraid

be afraid afraidMust be afraid every oneDeath is at our door

The Virus Came From Hell

the virus came from Hellravaging the entire world all waiting for death

my take on the corona virus pandemic for more check out my blog, https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com

(description of storyline: all characters in this work are dragons, with the ability to change into a human form. they live in present day society, but have a base in the middle of the desert. there is a library with the history of the world, which is operated by stacra, an organization to preserve the peace in the world. there is a rival organization, the dracra, who wish to take it over. the dracra is led by a dragon named Darkheart, a dragon who has haunted the Scar line for millenia.)"... sahsa...."what was that mumbled sasha, a small town girl in modern day USA. she was nearly asleep when the voice called to her.sasha was usually described as a freak. she was a dragon fanatic, and she carried her favorite books wherever she went, Brink of Insanity: journal of the Wild and the Broken; and its companion, Blood curse: journal of the Destroyer and the Savage. they told of dragons living in new york who had to bear a family curse and sought a way to release it. the author was only known as "Lucian"."....sasha...."i'm sure i heard it that time..."....come to me sasha...."she didnt know why but she felt as if she absolutely had to find the source. she was barely clothed but quietly snuck out, leaving small footprints in the snow."....sasha!...."she felt panicked. as the voice grew louder so did her heart, beating quickly in her ears. some sort of animal instinct took over and she somehow Managed to run on all fours. her whole body began tingling, her skin writhing. she looked back and nearly choked: wings and a tail... had grown from her body. her whole body turned white as scales etched their way into life over her skin. her body began elongating and enlarging, becoming streamlined and lizardlike. she was transforming..."...yes!... just as you said, master....""...quiet, kovu..."sashas vision went dark as she stumbled, barrelling through the snow. when she looked up, she saw an enormous dragon, with scars just like the ones in her book. "she will be a fine student."sasha was dumbfounded as she saw her parents walk up behind them. "greetings, master Lucian, kovu." said her father."and you, rydon.""y-you...know...?" stammered sasha."all will be explained in the morning, sasha," replied her mother.sasha felt tired and her eyes shut as the ground came up to meet her.sasha sat alone at the picnic table, surrounded by lucian, her father rydon, her mother sophia, and kovu. "so... you're all.... dragons.... like in my books..." she gestured to the two books.lucian stepped forward and placed a hand on the books. his hand glowed and the glossy books turned to worn, leather journals. "yes, we are dragons. sasha. and you have done well guarding my journals.""your... journals? but i thought that these were best-selling novels..."lucian chuckled, "no no. young one, there are only two other copies of each of these in existence.""wow..."her father spoke up now, "so what are you here for, master? is it time for her to leave us?""leave?! what do you mean leave?!"rydon looked worriedly at lucian and then at sasha,"you are dragon, and it is tradition for you to be trained.""but what if i dont want to leave?!"her father began to become angry,"its not your choice!""then whose-"lucian's eyes glowed red in anger, "rydon, haven't you taught your daughter respect? surely you would know of my ways by now."rydon nodded, "i- i'm sorry, master. i don't know whats come over her."sasha ran, shifting to her new dragon form and flying away. darkheart had warned her of this, that lucian was a dictatoria leader. she asked herself, "why had her father taken his side? why did this have to happen so suddenly? and most of all, what was she going to do next?"darkheart had given her directions to meet her after lucian made contact. sasha flew, tired as she was not used to the extra limbs.once she reached the spot that darkheart had told her, she waited and thought things through.once darkheart arrived, she spoke, "i want to join you. i beleive everything you've said."darkheart chuckled, "i knew you would dear girl, lucian is the same as his grandfather, they both hounded me and tortured me, for their own twisted ways. i've tried to keep as many as possible from falling into their cluthces. i wasn't able to **** scarheart, as he captured me and forced me into his own body as an energy slave. he tortured me even there, and after he died, lucian, his grandson, got me. he too tortured me."sasha looked at her in sock, "thats terrible. i didnt know...""you couldnt have, darling. those evil dragons keep everything from those who should know."sasha stood, "i want to be trained. by you.""really? i warn you, it is quite tough. not all survive. you must be willing to do whatever it takes to stop those vile dragons."* * * 3 years latersasha was 20 years old, and it was time for her to take on her first big mission: infiltrate lucian's schol and learn everything she could.sasha had already talked to lucian, apologizing for her behavior so long ago. lucian had seemed hesitant but allowed her in. foolish old bat. she thought. she had been at the compund for a year and a half now and had become familiar with their ways. sasha would often wonder why she was doing this, and she remembered, darkheart had said that lucian killed sashs's father. she always looked at him with scorn and wished to **** him. but she restrained herself and kept on the facade.today she felt especially hating towards every master she came in contact with. she passed tsai, lucian's right hand dragon, as he went to talk with the master. she tried to eavesdrop but they were speaking in an ancient, coded language. she growled and her white scales flashed in the sun.

"Lucian, somethings not right about that youngling sasha... she's always watching us, like she's gathering information.""yes, tsai, i know. i know exactly what she is.""what?" tsai looked skeptical."she's an agent, an informant. for darkheart."tsai stared, incredulous."wha?! how do you know?!""ive been under the influence of darkheart before, as have you. something about sasha is of darkheart's doing."tsai nodded "even still, is she possessed by her or under orders?"lucian thought for a moment "i beleive under orders..."both stared as lucian's son, kovu, walked up to sasha.* * "sasha! hi!" kovu had taken a liking to sasha since his father took her as an apprentice."oh, um. hi. kovu..." *i cant let my emotions get in the way of my mission! "how have you been?" sasha felt herself blush under the gaze of the drake. he wasnt half-bad to look at, and she often caught herself watching him."i'm doing great, training with tsai is always fun. what about you and master lucian?"her eyes darted to her master, her target, then back at kovu. "you mean you're... dad?""yeah... my dad... but we students can only call them by their designation. even master scaleweaver calls some elders master."sasha's ears pricked up as she heard scaleweaver's name. she was assigned to gather information on all of the masters. i must make madame darkheart proud... i am worthy... she must see that..."is... something wrong, sasha?"she caught herself, "n-no i'm just tired is all... just tired..."her master lucian came toward her what a fool, he doesnt even know about me... "sasha, i need to speak with you.... alone."kovu difpped his head and backed away respectfully."sasha, come."she swallowed her pride and said, "yes... master..." and followed him.once they were outside, lucian turned to her and said, "i know, sasha. i know that darkheart sent u here to gather information on us."sasha's eyes widened and her mouth dropped. she thought hard how?! how does he know?! this cant be possible...."i-i dont know what youre talking about, master..."lucian turned on her with a peircing gaze, and made her wince as he studied her. "there are better ways to lie, youngling... but not to me. ive known for quite some time now."sasha felt her legs give out beneath her. she sat, looking into the dust, listening incredulously at lucian. "how... how do you know?!?!"sasha ran forward, clawing at lucian's throat. she was instantly frozen in place, an immensely strong spell holding her legs in place. "let me go, lucian!""its master to you, youngling. and why would i let you go? you just tried to **** me." sasha struggled helplessly against her bonds. she saw lucian mutter something and felt her legs grow suddenly cold. she looked and gasped as ice started to creep up her haunches."lucia-master, please let me go... i was only under orders."lucian chuckled, "how did darkheart get to you?""i can't tell you...""oh? then let me guess; theres another informant, a higher up in stacra, who told darkheart about you and she arrived, possibly a week before us? she fed you a story of stacra destroying the world and trying to take over the one that they created. she told you that she was only trying to help restore order. am i close?"sasha felt naked under the gaze of the elder, who saw straight through her act and through her commander's plan. it made her heart quicken and her scales writhe. she felt a sharp pain as the ice crept up and chilled her thighs, creeping steadily upwards. "how... how can you know these things?! darkheart said you wouldnt be able to know... she said that you held her prisoner... that you tortured her... she said that you- you killed my father."lucian shook his head and wiped something from his face, revealing gruesome scars. "she altered her face to look like mine... look, and know the truth." he placed a claw on her forehead and she gasped as a flood of memories flooded her, darkheart inside lucian's mind, taking over him, taunting him, and forcing him to do terrible things. she heard lucian say, "she tortured me, she held me captive. its true that stacra destroyed the world, but look also;" she saw the corrupt government of old, and their wretched attrocities. "they brought about their own destruction. we created the world you know, but dont wish it to be taken over, we merely want peace...We act as peacekeepers. darkheart seeks to enslave all to do her bidding. and your father died at darkheart's talons, not mine." sasha saw a gruesome scene as lucian tried to save her father.she felt him withdraw, and felt the magic and ice withdraw from her, the ice's touch fading from her ****. she shivered and crouched low, warming her body."sasha, darkheart is a liar... she's been at it for thousands of years." he watched her shiver and said. "come, sit around the fire."sasha noddded and followed close behind lucian, hiding her vulnerable state."i'm sorry, master.""all will be okay, sasha... all will be fine.."lucian brought sasha into his study under his wing. he had her sit down in front of the fire and draped a blanket over her. he sat down behind her, looking over the latest reports, waiting for her to speak. after a few minutes she sighed and looked back at lucian, tears forming in her eyes. "is everything you said true? Is darkheart nothing but a deceptionist?"lucian looked up at her and nodded. "all of it was true. I'm sorry, sasha. darkheart is a gifted deceptionist and many of us have fallen for her tricks. including me."sasha turned back and looked into the fire with sad eyes, tears rolling down her cheek. she shuddered and took a shaky breath. lucian came up beside her and placed a comforting paw on her shoulder."darkheart forced me to **** my best friend... a she-drake named Clia... in front of her other followers to show that we must be able to turn on anyone to fulfill the mission..."lucian nodded, "so I had heard... darkheart has become more cruel than ever.""l-lucian, what can i do to make her pay?"lucian thought for a while and then shook his head. "let me think more on this, sasha. for now, let no one know that you are an affiliate of darkheart, it could have deadly consequence. you may remain in here if you wish, or you may return to your own quarters. i have some things to attend to."sasha nodded to him and gasped as everything went still and dimmed, even the fire seemed grey and frozen."wha-""sasha... you must tell me now, will you work with me?"she was stunned. "where are you? what do you mean?""you want to get back at her, i know how to. but you must tell me if you will work with me.""i-i will, lucian. but whhy ask now, and in this way?""because, there is someone here, that is going to try to **** you. he was listening to us and is going to attack you with magic. ive cast a spell that will give an apearance of death. just let the magic do its stuff and u'll do fine">"but wait!""you must trust me, sasha."all of a sudden, everything went back to normal, and lucian was gone, she could hear his fading footsteps.what was that abou- wait! the killer... she kept facing the fire and listened as she had been taught to the clawsteps of the incoming dragon."is it true? you're one of them?!"sasha turned and gasped, flashing him a shocked, innocent look over her shoulder. "what are you talking about, kovu?"he was angry, and she was struck with fear. "i overheard you and lucian talking. i heard everything."sasha turned to face him."y-you, heard everything...""then you are one of them! i cant beleive it... i cant beleive i trusted you."kovu stepped forward and sasha's eyes shifted, trying to find a way out. "kovu, i- i can explain.""you're nothing but a trickster, a deceptress! dont try to talk me out of this."her heartbeat quickened, stricken with dread. "out of... out of what, kovu?"he said nothing but uttered the death spell.* * sasha let herself go, remembering lucian's spell. but as she did so, she thought about why she was doing this. *to make darkheart suffer... she heard lucian in her mind. "you'll be going to death-sleep for a while, a few days to make it beleivable. now sleep, sasha... sleep and i will awaken you soon.""o-okay, master lucian...""there is no need to call me master anymore, sasha. from now on, you no longer exist. which is why darkheart will never see you coming. its time... dont worry."the death-sleep overcame her and she fell to darkness.* * *lucian ran downstairs and saw kovu standing over sasha's body. he put on a facade of dread and said, "kovu.... what have you done?!"kovu looked at lucian angrily. "you were going to harbor a killer... i took care of the problem."lucian became angry now, "no, you made more problems. you didnt think... you didnt listen. she was willing to help."kovu snarled at lucian, "i did what needed to be done. I killed her for you, father."lucian responded quietly, "you killed a helpless dragoness in cold blood. i have no choice but to arrest you for ******, my son." he muttered a binding spell and blocked kovu's magic. he watched kovu struggle for a moment then went to pick up sasha's seemingly lifeless body. he contacted her mentally, saying, "i'm taking your body in to the infirmary, i'll oversee your examination. in 2 days, i will wake you, when i do, be very quiet.""yes, sir."sasha's new appearance was stunning, quite different from the black color of her original scales, she now looked like each scale was a glittering saphire, and her horns and underside were now a shimmering silver. sasha was astonished by what lucian had done, he had also changed her voice and form, making her more slender and agile, he altered her voice in such a way that it seemed that she could charm the heart out of a rock. even lucian who had a mate of his own had to keep himself composed. but he was undoubtedly pleased that things were turning out well. lucian had to change everything about her, her eyes now a deep green, her draconic fingerprint being her tail-tip and spine, were changed to furry mane and a slender diamond tip.she looked at herself in amirror and remarked how mature she looked."you may have to be put in certain situations which may have you exploit some... erm... feminine charms.""so i'll have to....""only if you let it go that far. it depends on you. you said that you'd do anything to get back at darkheart. these matters are up to your own discretion."she thought long about this. "i want to g

OK Reader, I'm going to tell you a tale … with great trepidation. You see, this tale, well, it's kind of like telling someone that you've seen a UFO. They want to believe you, but … it's never really been proven scientifically. Not to mention the fact that most folks who believe in such things are often the tin-hat wearing types, written off as … lets be nice and call them “odd”. And, of course, the more you swear to it, the crazier you appear. It's an epic tale, spanning 30 years of my crazy life.

But, It's a story I want to tell, because it happened to me. I can barely understand it myself, let alone explain it. So … I'm just going to launch into it and you take it any way you wish.

* * Where Can You Be?

Where can you be?Where can you be, my love?Oh, can't you see?You're not with me!

I'll search with gazes and I'll search with cars,I'll search the cities and I'll search the stars, well …I'm gonna find you, oh, wherever you are,I'm gonna find you baby … near or far, but …

Where can you be?Where can you be, my love?Oh, can't you see?You're not with me!

I thought I'd found ya, but she wasn't you,that girl she left alone and blue, well …I know that's something that you'd never do,your love has always been strong and true, but …

Where can you be?Where can you be, my love?Oh, can't you see?You're not with me!

If you must settle for some other manand deviate from our immortal plan, well …I hope you realize I will understandand I'll try and do the best that I can, but …

Where will I be?Where will I be, my love?Hoping the next life sees … our destiny!

Where can you be?Where can you be, my love?Oh, can't you see?You're not with me!

~Wednesday, April 1st, 198710:30 P.M.

I was singing in a band back in those days and, as it happened, this was the last song I'd ever write for it. Just after this, as it does, it all came crashing down and the band was finished. But in those last days, they pondered this song, with great puzzlement. You see, it was unlike anything I'd brought them before. It wasn't rock … It wasn't a ballad … it wasn't even structured like a “normal” 80's rock song.

No bridge, no solo, no loud grinding guitars, etc. It even had bits where I hummed, yes hummed, the melody, like a lullaby. As they read the lyrics and I described how it went, they all looked at me like I had three heads and asked where this had come from. It was nothing like anything I'd written before. I could only tell them when and where I'd written it, but had no explanation of what inspired it. It had just came to me, so I wrote it down. They didn't know what to make of it, or even what to do with it.

One of them said it sounded like a late 70's or early 80's adult contemporary song or even in the vein of The Eagles. Another asked if it was about reincarnation … And I honestly, until that moment, hadn't thought of it that way, I didn't think like that at 24 … but then, one of them said it was “Haunting” …

“Haunting”?

“Wow”, I thought, I'd never had anything I'd written described as that before. When I asked him what he meant by that, he told me that it was haunting to think that this poor guy is desperately seeking a girl, that may or may not even know that he exists … in a world with billions of people in it. To top that off, he fears that she may off and marry someone else if he doesn't find her in time.

This, along with the suggestion of it being about reincarnation made me rethink and rewrite the song. Well, a few lines in the last verse and chorus anyways. It actually made the song flow better and seem more complete. In a way, it actually made the song make more sense … to me and them. Sadly, we never did anything with it. There wouldn't be time. Ha … Time … how ironic. Over 10 years later, came this …

For Someone I've Never Met

Please save a place for me,deep inside your heart.Always know that I think of you,as we both practice our arts.

Our worlds are full of temptations,so very hard to resist …and the good Lord knows we're both far from,sixteen and never been kissed.

Wealthy men with jaws divine …Temptresses with looks so fine …Paths that lead our hearts away …Paths that surely lead astray …

They'll lead us there every time.They'll leave us there … so unkind.Our hearts must shine,night and day.Through any darkness … they'll light our way.

If you never touch my face …If I never look into your eyes …We'll always have the comfort of sharing the samebig, blue sky.

If I never smell your hair …If you never kiss my lips …Always know the search for your smilehas launched a thousand ships.

So, I hope you save a place for mein your heart so sweet and kind.Please, save a place for me …Heaven knows you've one in mine.

~Thursday, September 9th, 19999 A.M.

“For Someone I've Never Met ” poured out of me in the midst of another breakup from the second, and last, girl that I wanted to marry. That emotion, never found me again. I looked at it on my computer screen and smiled, seeing “Where Can You Be”, in my mind, on my tattered old note pad that I called my “Song Book”. The memory of me writing it while sitting in my Z-28, looking out over the Gulf of Mexico as a beautiful heat lighting storm sent bolts across the sky, came flooding back; as did the debate of reincarnation I'd had with my pals in the rehearsal room all those years before. Here I was, again, writing about “someone” that I sensed, for lack of a better term, was out there … somewhere.

Well Reader, do you believe in reincarnation? I was never really certain, but, as you can see, I had twice written pieces to someone I wasn't completely sure existed. I had always “sensed” someone out there beginning with the period after I wrote “Where Can You Be?” and thereafter. So, there they were, each written after losing someone I was deeply in love with. Each came out of nowhere, as they usually do. By the time I was in my 40's, I began to think I was either imagining it all (a side effect of being a hopeless romantic) or that I had just somehow missed this person and our “moment”.

And then …

Epiphany

There was a place.There was a time …There, I stood … still unknowingand everything seemed fine.

But there in that place …at that moment in time …the moment I saw the eyes, I'd never believed I'd find.

Well, what could I say?What could I do?In a world filled with billions …and there … was a you.

I'd always known you were out there …even written of something amiss.I never, ever stopped looking for you …because my heart always said you exist.

Well, what could I say?Tell me, what could I do?There we stood, staring … alone … in a city of millions …yes, there … there was a you.

Oh, that mistress fate, she is just so cruel.Frustration, a curse to be mine. I'd searched for you my entire life …but now … my clock … knows a limit of time.

You see, I would never venture a love with you,while knowing I'd have to leave you … hurt and alone.I could only admire from afar … stoic and aloof …while turning my heart into stone.

Nothing I could ever say and nothing I could ever do …But now, at long last … at least I finally knew.

There, you stood … green seas, gazing up … into skies of blue. My long-awaited revelation … become sorrow-laced realization. There really is … a you.

~August 12th, 2009

Typical of my life-long Charlie Brown syndrome … After being told in 2005 that I had “the lungs of an eighty-year-old man” and that I had “Six to Ten years” to live, I made a conscious decision in that Doctor's parking lot that I could never have another girlfriend and that I must face this alone. I don't see woman as objects. They are glorious creatures that are here to be our partners and friends and to make our lives amazing. I could never, ever knowingly let a woman fall in love with me, all the while knowing I was going to die and leave her. It's not in me to do such a thing, lonely or not.

Yes, I'm still alive, I'm stubborn like that. But, some days are better than others and my new doctors say that they don't give people “time limits” anymore … because of people like me. I can't afford the lung transplant. So, as Bono so aptly put in one of his songs: “The rich stay healthy, while the sick stay poor”. It is what it is … and like the energizer bunny, I'm still going. Good for me.

In the moment that I met her, the morning that followed, and the amazing speed of our nexus over the next several months combined with a string of synchronicities (Coincidences? Did I mention that she too, was a poet and writer?) that not only came after I met her on the sidewalk in front of the publisher we shared, but in those pieces I had written before and in several after; I was pretty much convinced I had actually found her. I have NEVER experienced anything like this, or her, in my entire life.

So, after all this time, here she was … and there wasn't a **** thing that I could do about it. Besides, she was much younger than I and it probably would never have worked anyways. ****, the universe is rotten sometimes, huh? Maybe, if I'm lucky, things will balance out better in the next life. I can only hope. But I'm reminded, worryingly so, of the **** The Alarm song: “Collide”:

“All of these thoughts pounding in my head …with the words I've wrote, in the letters I've never sent.The distance in our lives may change …Times that you can never erase …But will our worlds collide?Will our worlds collide, the next time?”

Only time will tell.

“Colors”, and a few others, were written about/for her. But, I could never show them to her. I would never endanger my friendship with her. I just wanted to keep her in my life. That, and that alone, was the only motive I'd ever had with her. I looked forward to seeing her marry, hearing her stories of her three kid's adventures; Hubby, all greasy, working on the car in the driveway, rabbits in her garden at night, eating her precious organic veggies or even about her new curtains. Just to know that she was alive, happy and doing well. I found a solace in her voice I could never describe and I was completely content to just have her in my life and watch hers unfold. Only I could end up in this odd position.

I feared that she might get weird-ed out because I'd never displayed any romantic inklings toward her, so, to suddenly read these might make her feel a bit, lets say: uncomfortable. Actually, I didn't write them with any romantic intentions, per se; I just did what I always do … write what comes out. Still, there's no denying that they come across romantic. Again, so, so Charlie Brown. (long sigh)

It is what it is. I also have to ponder the fact that maybe all those Charlie Brown moments in my life were preparing me for this one big, painful one. That does makes sense … ******' Universe.

Colors

Well when you're Green, I'll be your Brown.Like the earth that loves the flowers,I'll will be your solid ground.

And I'll be your Azure, when you are Verdigris.We'll be thee most beautiful oceanthat eyes have ever seen.

And when you're Black, I'll be your White.Mixing all of the colors … I'll make everything alright.

Now when you're Blue, I'll be you're Red.If something should make you wanna cry,I will feel your pain instead.

And I'll be your Orange, whenever you are Pink.We'll be thee most amazing sunset,that the sky could ever ink.

And when you're Black, I'll be your White.I'll mix all of your colors … and make everything alright.

Should you be Violet, I will be your Beige.Like a sleepy moonlit desert,pasteled in dunes and sage.

And when you're Grey, I will be your Rainbow.We'll be thee most soothing rainstormthe world has ever known.

And when you're Black, I'll be your White.I'll mix all of your colors … yes, I'll make everything alright.

With love on my palette, painting a glorious sunrise …I'll color all your mornings with a smile and brighten up your skies.If you should find yourself in sorrow from someones hate or lies …I'll take the stars down from the heavens … and paint them in your eyes.

So whenever you are Black, I will always be your White.I'll mix all your colors with a promise … everything will be alright.

Yes, I'll mix all of your colors with a promise … Everything's gonna be alright.

~ Winter 2012

I wrote this after she had rang me up one afternoon lamenting about her life at the moment, troubled that her latest novel hadn't done as well as she'd hoped and now she had to be waitressing to make ends meet. I tried my best to cheer her up and assured her that she was strong enough to handle anything and that she must keep chasing her dreams. I wrote it as a poem, but I can't help but notice it looks like a song, though I've never heard music for it. Those repeated verses look just like choruses to me.

Earlier in the day, I had been looking at a booklet of paint swatches. I guess, up there on my roof looking at the Manhattan skyline, her sadness and me looking at all those colors melted together somehow and, as happens, out came this piece. Even this, became another synchronicity as she would name her next novel “Show Me All Your Colors”. I remember seeing it in the bookstore and looking straight up … shaking my head at the sky. Was this the universe telling me to show and tell her all this?

Well, if it was, I stuck with my gut and kept it to myself. My God, if you only knew how many of these synchronicities there were between her and I. It simply boggles my mind. I wanted to call them “coincidences”, but there were just so **** many of them … Each so unique, they just couldn't be called that. I don't want to tell them all here, because like I said, the more you swear to it, the crazier you sound. And I'm sure your questioning my sanity by now, aren't you? (Smirk)

OK, OK … this one is definitely romantic. I wrote it one night, drunk to the bejeezus. I'd done what we called “The Crosstown Crawl” with my pal Tristan and a gaggle of assorted waitresses we knew. This involved starting at Brass Monkey on the west side highway in the Gansevoort District and ending at my favorite hookah bar, Karma, on the Lower East Side … Drinking in, and often being “asked to leave” (Read: Kicked out of) every bar that took our interest as we walked (Read: staggered) west to east, staying below 14th St.

On my way home from the city on the J train, I thought about all the phone conversations we'd had while I was on this train crossing the Williamsburg Bridge. Being drunk, I guess, I caught a bout of sadness that I'd never get to tell her any of this or even how I felt about it all. Before I hit my elevator, this piece was swimming in my head. It's about as mushy a piece as I've ever written … if not thee most! Not the norm for me, but this is, after all, a lot to keep pent up inside you. I wouldn't wish this predicament on anyone.

It is just a shame … and I'm so, so sorry … that you … must never, ever know.

Maybe next time.

~Charlie Brown

When I came-to in the morning and read what I had wrote, I had to laugh a bit. It is borderline corny, very beautiful, very telling and very sad … all at once. I shook my head, laughing and told myself :

“*******, Sam … yer losin' it. Get your **** together, will ya?”

I guess in my stupor, I was imagining what it would have been like to write something for her. I don't know … There it was and I was stuck with it. I almost deleted it, but, my finger wouldn't press the key. As I told you before … I'd NEVER show this to her. She'd probably never speak to me again.

As a sadder epilogue, that eventually happened. I still don't know why, but we haven't spoken in years. Maybe she sensed this emotion in me and ran away. Or maybe, just maybe … she thought I'd pushed her away somehow … but for whatever reason, we drifted apart. I guess I'll never know. As you can see by reading this, that was never my intention. But, like I keep reiterating … It is what it is.

One day, I called her number to catch up and shoot the breeze. I hadn't spoken to her in a few months as she'd been busy promoting her new novel and I didn't want to pester her. But … it was disconnected … I checked my emails … nothing. I'd never been so confused, she just closed me out. I didn't want to bother her. I was sure she had her reasons and if she wanted to reach out to me again, she would. She had my email and my phone number. But, for now … she was gone … and that was that.

So, what do you think, Reader? Do I get the Tin hat … or a Badge of courage? Am I bat-**** crazy … or just eccentric? I'll leave it up to you to decide, because as I said, this all happened to me and there isn't a thing I can do about any of it. I just had to get it off of my chest. Thanks for letting me vent.

Wherever she is … she will always mean the world to me. I can see her green eyes if I close my mine and look for them. Sometimes, on occasion, her face haunts my sleep. Still, I like to picture her, kids playing in a sprinkler behind her, digging in her garden, wearing gloves too big for her hands and a smudge of fresh dirt on her cheek … it makes me smile.

-Sam WebsterBrooklyn, New York2013

OK, you can stop scratching your head. I'm sorry if you feel like I tricked you or was playing a prank … That was not my intention. This piece is experimental writing, of sorts. If you are wondering, it's titled “Somewhere … Out There”. But I didn't want to put a title at the head of the page, as that might have clued you in too early.

I also confess that “Sam” the narrator is, on no uncertain terms, based loosely on myself. But hey, what better way to string you along? Besides, as Stephen King said, you “Write what you know”. As far as I 'm aware, using poetry within a short story like this, or in this manner, has never been done before. Welcome to the future!

It really belongs in my “From Thee Edge” Collection with the rest of my Twilight-Zone-esque short stories. (You can now read some of these fiction short stories here, posted in my "NoPo@HePo" posts, along with some non-fiction essays. I hope you enjoy them.) But, because I pieced together several of my poems to not only tell the story, but as a vehicle to carry it along as part of it; I wanted to put it here on Hello Poetry just to see if I could convince you long enough to get you through the story … while having you believe it was me speaking to you and that it was all very real to me. Thus, making it feel real to you as you read it.

Was I having you along right up until it was signed by someone else? Or, at least until the narrator addressed himself as “Sam”?

If so, then I accomplished my mission. I'd love to hear your comments on it. If you've been reading any of my other posts, I'm sure you've figured out that I like to run wildly outside of the box sometimes. This was just, as I said, an experiment in a different way to tell a story … fiction or otherwise. As always, I hope that I took you on a journey and, more importantly, that you enjoyed it.

1I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten, I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check with original energy.

2 Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes, I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it, The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless, It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,

The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms, The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides, The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the earth much? Have you practis’d so long to learn to read? Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,) You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books, You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

3 I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

Urge and urge and urge, Always the procreant urge of the world.

Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always ***, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life. To elaborate is no avail, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so.

Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams, Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical, I and this mystery here we stand.

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.

Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen, Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.

Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age, Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.

Welcome is every ***** and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean, Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest.

I am satisfied - I see, dance, laugh, sing; As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread, Leaving me baskets cover’d with white towels swelling the house with their plenty, Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes, That they turn from gazing after and down the road, And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent, Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?

4 Trippers and askers surround me, People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation, The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new, My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues, The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love, The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations, Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events; These come to me days and nights and go from me again, But they are not the Me myself.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, Looks down, is *****, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next, Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.

Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders, I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.

5 I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you, And you must not be abased to the other.

Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best, Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over upon me, And parted the shirt from my *****-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my feet.

Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth, And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own, And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own, And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers, And that a kelson of the creation is love, And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields, And brown ants in the little wells beneath them, And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap’d stones, elder, mullein and poke-****.

6 A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the ******* of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers’ laps, And here you are the mothers’ laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, Darker than the colorless beards of old men, Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women, And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

7 Has any one supposed it lucky to be born? I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash’d babe, and am not contain’d between my hat and boots, And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good, The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.

I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth, I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself, (They do not know how immortal, but I know.)

Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female, For me those that have been boys and that love women, For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted, For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the mothers of mothers, For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears, For me children and the begetters of children.

Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded, I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no, And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.

8 The little one sleeps in its cradle, I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand.

The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill, I peeringly view them from the top.

The suicide sprawls on the ****** floor of the bedroom, I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen.

The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of the promenaders, The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the clank of the shod horses on the granite floor, The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-*****, The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous’d mobs, The flap of the curtain’d litter, a sick man inside borne to the hospital, The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall, The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his passage to the centre of the crowd, The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes, What groans of over-fed or half-starv’d who fall sunstruck or in fits, What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and give birth to babes, What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls restrain’d by decorum, Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances, rejections with convex lips, I mind them or the show or resonance of them-I come and I depart.

9 The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready, The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon, The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged, The armfuls are pack’d to the sagging mow.

I am there, I help, I came stretch’d atop of the load, I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other, I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy, And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.

10 Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt, Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee, In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night, Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-****’d game, Falling asleep on the gather’d leaves with my dog and gun by my side.

The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud, My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck.

The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me, I tuck’d my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time; You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.

I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west, the bride was a red girl, Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking, they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets hanging from their shoulders, On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride by the hand, She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach’d to her feet.

The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside, I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile, Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak, And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him, And brought water and fill’d a tub for his sweated body and bruis’d feet, And gave him a room that enter’d from my own, and gave him some coarse clean clothes, And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness, And remember putting piasters on the galls of his neck and ankles; He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass’d north, I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean’d in the corner.

11 Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore, Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly; Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.

She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank, She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.

Which of the young men does she like the best? Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.

Where are you off to, lady? for I see you, You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.

Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather, The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.

The beards of the young men glisten’d with wet, it ran from their long hair, Little streams pass’d all over their bodies.

An unseen hand also pass’d over their bodies, It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.

The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them, They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch, They do not think whom they ***** with spray.

12 The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market, I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.

Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil, Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in the fire.

From the cinder-strew’d threshold I follow their movements, The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms, Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure, They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.

13 The ***** holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags underneath on its tied-over chain, The ***** that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and tall he stands pois’d on one leg on the string-piece, His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast and loosens over his hip-band, His glance is calm and commanding, he tosses the slouch of his hat away from his forehead, The sun falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black of his polish’d and perfect limbs.

I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop there, I go with the team also.

In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as forward sluing, To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing, Absorbing all to myself and for this song.

Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.

My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They rise together, they slowly circle around.

I believe in those wing’d purposes, And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me, And consider green and violet and the tufted crown i

Every colour turns to greyEvery price he'll have to payFor every little mistakeHe's ever madeAnd though none could equalTo the pain of his latestThe loss of his loveAll down to himHe drove her awayWith every mistakeWith every late night flitAnd his latest one night standBut it doesn't matterBecause that was a mistakeAnd it's guaranteedHe'll make another one tomorrowThat may equal to the lossOf his latest love affairAs he goes back to his wifeLost in the ineptitudeOf his mistakesShe takes another beatingFor his loss.

There’s a film by John Schlesinger called the Go-Between in which the main character, a boy on the cusp of adolescence staying with a school friend on his family’s Norfolk estate, discovers how passion and *** become intertwined with love and desire. As an elderly man he revisits the location of this discovery and the woman, who we learn changed his emotional world forever. At the start of the film we see him on a day of grey cloud and wild wind walking towards the estate cottage where this woman now lives. He glimpses her face at a window – and the film flashes back fifty years to a summer before the First War.

It’s a little like that for me. Only, I’m sitting at a desk early on a spring morning about to step back nearly forty years.*

It was a two-hour trip from Boston to Booth Bay. We’d flown from New York on the shuttle and met Larry’s dad at St Vincent’s. We waited in his office as he put away the week with his secretary. He’d been in theatre all afternoon. He kept up a two-sided conversation.

‘You boys have a good week? Did you get to hear Barenboim at the Tully? I heard him as 14-year old play in Paris. He played the Tempest - Mary, let’s fit Mrs K in for Tuesday at 5.0 - I was learning that very Beethoven sonata right then. I couldn’t believe it - that one so young could sound –there’s that myocardial infarction to review early Wednesday. I want Jim and Susan there please - and look so . . . old, not just mature, but old. And now – Gloria and I went to his last Carnegie – he just looks so **** young.’

Down in the basement garage Larry took his dad’s keys and we roared out on to Storow drive heading for the Massachusetts Turnpike. I slept. Too many early mornings copying my teacher’s latest – a concerto for two pianos – all those notes to be placed under the fingers. There was even a third piano in the orchestra. Larry and his Dad talked incessantly. I woke as Dr Benson said ‘The sea at last’. And there we were, the sea a glazed blue shimmering in the July distance. It might be lobster on the beach tonight, Gloria’s clam chowder, the coldest apple juice I’d ever tasted (never tasted apple juice until I came to Maine), settling down to a pile of art books in my bedroom, listening to the bell buoy rocking too and fro in the bay, the beach just below the house, a house over 150 years old, very old they said, in the family all that time.

It was a house full that weekend, 4th of July weekend and there would be fireworks over Booth Bay and lots of what Gloria called necessary visiting. I was in love with Gloria from the moment she shook my hand after that first concert when my little cummings setting got a mention in the NYT. It was called forever is now and God knows where it is – scored for tenor and small ensemble (there was certainly a vibraphone and a double bass – I was in love from afar with a bassist at J.). Oh, this being in love at seventeen. It was so difficult not to be. No English reserve here. People talked to you, were interested in you and what you thought, had heard, had read. You only had to say you’d been looking at a book of Andrew Wyeth’s paintings and you’d be whisked off to some uptown gallery to see his early watercolours. And on the way you’d hear a life story or some intimate details of friend’s affair, or a great slice of family history. Lots of eye contact. Just keep the talk going. But Gloria, well, we would meet in the hallway and she’d grasp my hand and say – ‘You know, Larry says that you work too hard. I want you to do nothing this weekend except get some sun and swim. We can go to Johnson’s for tennis you know. I haven’t forgotten you beat me last time we played!’ I suppose she was mid-thirties, a shirt, shorts and sandals woman, not Larry’s mother but Dr Benson’s third. This was all very new to me.

Tim was Larry’s elder brother, an intern at Felix-Med in NYC. He had a new girl with him that weekend. Anne-Marie was tall, bespectacled, and supposed to be ferociously clever. Gloria said ‘She models herself on Susan Sontag’. I remember asking who Sontag was and was told she was a feminist writer into politics. I wondered if Anne-Marie was a feminist into politics. She certainly did not dress like anyone else I’d seen as part of the Benson circle. It was July yet she wore a long-sleeved shift buttoned up to the collar and a long linen skirt down to her ankles. She was pretty but shapeless, a long straight person with long straight hair, a clip on one side she fiddled with endlessly, purposefully sometimes. She ignored me but for an introductory ‘Good evening’, when everyone else said ‘Hi’.

The next day it was hot. I was about the house very early. The apple juice in the refrigerator came into its own at 6.0 am. The bay was in mist. It was so still the bell buoy stirred only occasionally. I sat on the step with this icy glass of fragrant apple watching the pearls of condensation form and dissolve. I walked the shore, discovering years later that Rachel Carson had walked these paths, combed these beaches. I remember being shocked then at the concern about the environment surfacing in the late sixties. This was a huge country: so much space. The Maine woods – when I first drove up to Quebec – seemed to go on forever.

It was later in the day, after tennis, after trying to lie on the beach, I sought my room and took out my latest score, or what little of it there currently was. It was a piano piece, a still piece, the kind of piece I haven’t written in years, but possibly should. Now it’s all movement and complication. Then, I used to write exactly what I heard, and I’d heard Feldman’s ‘still pieces’ in his Greenwich loft with the white Rauschenbergs on the wall. I had admired his writing desk and thought one day I’ll have a desk like that in an apartment like this with very large empty paintings on the wall. But, I went elsewhere . . .

I lay on the bed and listened to the buoy out in the bay. I thought of a book of my childhood, We Didn’t Mean to Go to Sea by Arthur Ransome. There’s a drawing of a Beach End Buoy in that book, and as the buoy I was listening to was too far out to see (sea?) I imagined it as the one Ransome drew from Lowestoft harbour. I dozed I suppose, to be woken suddenly by voices in the room next door. It was Tim and Anne-Marie. I had thought the house empty but for me. They were in Tim’s room next door. There was movement, whispering, almost speech, more movement.

I was curious suddenly. Anne-Marie was an enigma. Tim was a nice guy. Quiet, dedicated (Larry had said), worked hard, read a lot, came to Larry’s concerts, played the cello when he could, Bach was always on his record player. He and Anne-Marie seemed so close, just a wooden wall away. I stood by this wall to listen.

‘Why are we whispering’, said Anne-Marie firmly, ‘For goodness sake no one’s here. Look, you’re a doctor, you know what to do surely.’

‘Not yet.’

‘But people call you Doctor, I’ve heard them.’

‘Oh sure. But I’m not, I’m just a lousy intern.’

‘A lousy intern who doesn’t want to make love to me.’

Then, there was rustling, some heavy movement and Tim saying ‘Oh Anne, you mustn’t. You don’t need to do this.’

‘Yes I do. You’re hard and I’m wet between my legs. I want you all over me and inside me. I wanted you last night so badly I lay on my bed quite naked and masturbated hoping you come to me. But you didn’t. I looked in on you and you were just fast asleep.’

‘You forget I did a 22-hour call on Thursday’.

“And the rest. Don’t you want me? Maybe your brother or that nice English boy next door?’

‘Is he next door? ‘

‘If he is, I don’t care. He looks at me you know. He can’t work me out. I’ve been ignoring him. But maybe I shouldn’t. He’s got beautiful eyes and lovely hands’.

There was almost silence for what seemed a long time. I could hear my own breathing and became very aware of my own body. I was shaking and suddenly cold. I could hear more breathing next door. There was a shaft of intense white sunlight burning across my bed. I imagined Anne-Marie sitting cross-legged on the floor next door, her hand cupping her right breast fingers touching the ******, waiting. There was a rustle of movement. And the door next door slammed.

Thirty seconds later Tim was striding across the garden and on to the beach and into the sea . . .

There was probably a naked young woman sitting on the floor next door I thought. Reading perhaps. I stayed quite still imagining she would get up, open her door and peek into my room. So I moved away from the wall and sat on the bed trying hard to look like a composer working on a score. And she did . . . but she had clothes on, though not her glasses or her hair clip, and she wore a bright smile – lovely teeth I recall.

‘Good afternoon’, she said. ‘You heard all that I suppose.’

I smiled my nicest English smile and said nothing.

‘Tell me about your girlfriend in England.’

She sat on the bed, cross-legged. I was suddenly overcome by her scent, something complex and earthy.

‘My girlfriend in England is called Anne’.

‘Really! Is she pretty? ‘

I didn’t answer, but looked at my hands, and her feet, her uncovered calves and knees. I could see the shape of her slight ******* beneath her shirt, now partly unbuttoned. I felt very uncomfortable.

‘Tell me. Have you been with this Anne in England?’

‘No.’ I said, ‘I ‘d like to, but she’s very shy.’

‘OK. I’m an Anne who’s not shy.’

‘I’ve yet to meet a shy American.’

‘They exist. I could find you a nice shy girl you could get to know.’

‘I’d quite like to know you, but you’re a good bit older than me.’

‘Oh that doesn’t matter. You’re quite a mature guy I think. I’d go out with you.’

‘Wow! did she really? Ok then, that’s a deal. You better read some Simone de Beauvoir pretty quick,’ and she bounced off the bed.

After supper - lobster on the beach - Gloria cornered me and said. ‘I gather you heard all this afternoon.’

I remembered mumbling a ‘yes’.

‘It’s OK,’ she said, ‘Anne-Marie told me all. Girls do this you know – talk about what goes on in other people’s bedrooms. What could you do? I would have done the same. Tim’s not ready for an Anne-Marie just yet, and I’m not sure you are either. Not my business of course, but gentle advice from one who’s been there. ‘

‘Been where?’

‘Been with someone older and supposedly wiser. And remembering that wondering-what-to-do-about-those-feelings-around-*** and all that. There’s a right time and you’ll know it when it comes. ‘

She kissed me very lightly on my right ear, then got up and walked across the beach back to the house.

How does prayer Stop gun violence?Prayer did not work in Texas. 26 people were murdered while praying.

God if he exists Obviously does not careAbout the poor peopleWho died in his churchBecause a mad man Got a gunAnd no they were not praying To be delivered from deathNo one deserves to die like this

So my prayer to youIs simply this Get off your rear endRally the countryAnd do something

About gun violence

That’s a prayer I hope works

Dear Speaker RyanI want to tell you something The dead don’t want your prayersThe dead don’t care that you pray for themThey are dead after all

And you and your so-called ChristiansAre to blameYou refuse to do anything Anything at all

to stop the carnage In our streets

The U.S. is flooded with gunsAnd more are sold every dayMillions of people don’t have health coverageMillions are barely surviving

And your answerOur dear great compassionate SpeakerYour answer Is Prayer works Government action does notYou act as if the gun violence Plaguing our country Was like the weather Beyond our controlSo here’s my prayer for you And your colleaguesWhen you die I pray that God Will send you

And your friends Straight to hellWhere Satan and his demons Will use you for target practice

That’s my prayer to you And as you know Prayer works

Mr. President You are wrong once again You said that the tragic events in Texas And Las Vegas were not “gun situations” But rather were mental health problemsAnd that in Texasif there had been no gun controlsPerhaps fewer people would have died

Mr. President I know you a smart man The smartest man in the world

According to youSo please contemplate this fact According to the latest findings It is a gun situation

In fact, the reason the U.S. Has so many gun deaths Is because we have so many guns 45% of the worlds guns in factAnd 33 percent of the world’s shooters Are Americans killing other AmericansAnd most of them

the majority of them Are White men killing other peopleNot Islamic terrorists

Most are in fact Self-proclaimed ChristiansSo Mr. President When will you come to your sensesAnd do what 90 percent of the public wants

Enact nation wide effective gun controls?And tell the NRA they can take their blood money elsewhere

When Mr. President When will you act When will you take chargeAnd become a President of the peopleInstead of the President of the NRA? Like (0) 0

in this jaded wild world Gone in one hourIn a spasm of horrific scumbageryIn just a less than 30 short minutes Nothing more thanIn just a few short 30 moments All the victimswere murdered while at their daily work wrong place wrong time

act of a demotic deranged madmanvoices screaming ****The voices screamdeath to all humans

All must be killedThe voices scream over and over All must die now

Just another night in AmericaLand of the BraveHome of the freeMore Guns for Everyone in the World

The NRA has decided That the best solution to global problem Of rampant violence and crime everywhereIs for the rest of the world

To become like the U.S. Where anyone can buy a gun As an armed society is a polite society’

And so the President is about to announce A global campaign against gun control restrictions

As these restrictionsare an undue burden On the rights of the US arms manufacturesTo sell their guns everywhere in the world

As everyone wants what we have to sell The best weapons in the worldInstead of trying to limit the damage

That unrestricted gun sales Have done to the U.S.Our President, our great leader Wants to sell more guns Everywhere in the world

And there are eager buyers Lining up around the world Eager to buy the best guns The world has ever seen

We want to export The gun madness That has infected our society

Leaving behind so many dead bodiesThe dead were not consulted For they remain dead

the NRA will keep talking talking and talking preventing anything from being done

and we will have another Mass shooting event Before the day is out

So my plead This day To the NRA Aand their stoogies Talk is cheap Your comments Are not helping

If you can’t Be a part of the solutionJust stop talking Please stop talking

And let the restOf us figure out How to stop The madness in the streetsAnd stop the carnage

So NRA Please just stop talking Now

military assault weapons are locked up

yet in America the land of the free home of the brave everyone and his cousin must have their gun

guns for everyone cries the NRA that’s the solution

The president a and his supporters deny the obviousguns **** peopleThat’s all they do

it is a gun thing you would not understandGuns just dowhat guns gonna do**** people

Mr. President You can take your words your empty platitudesYour empty promisesYour prayers

straight to hell and back

where with any luck Satan will use you as target practiceChief of Staff You are Absurd

the President’s chief of staffsaid the other day it was absurd to suggest that the president’s words had anything to do with recent mass shootings

yet is it absurd to see the lengths to which the President’s supporterswill twist and turn spinning awa ythe inconvenient truthPresident Trump is a racist bigot con man who some how conned his way to become Presidenthe call immigrants criminals, vermin, animals invaders infesting the countrythe El Paseo shooter said that he went to the border to shoot the invaders and said that he was a big Trump fanit is not absurd to connect these two huge dotsThe President’s words have real world consequences

Yes Mr. Trump is a racist pig aand his supporters are being absurd to suggest otherwise

John (“Jake” ) Cosmos Aller is a novelist, poet and former Foreign Service officer having served 27 years with the U.S. State Department in ten countries - Antigua, Barbados, Dominica, Grenada, Korea, India, St Kitts, St Lucia, St Vincent, Spain and Thailand. and traveled to 45 countries during his career. Jake has been an aspiring novelist for several years and has completed two novels, (Giant **** Spiders, and the Great Divorce) and is pursuing publication. He has been writing poetry all his life and has published his poetry in electronic poetry forums, including All Poetry, Moon Café and Duane’s Poetree. (under the name Jake Lee). He is looking forward to transitioning to his third career – full-time novelist and poet after completing his second career as a Foreign Service officer, and his first career as an educator overseas for six years upon completion of his Peace Corps service in South Korea.

He served in a wide variety of positions running from Consular management, Fraud investigation and managing the consular overseas computer support desk, to economic and political reporting positions, international labor diplomacy, commercial diplomacy - promoting American business overseas- international organization diplomacy serving as the deputy permanent representative to the Economic and Social Commission for Asia and the Pacific, to management positions including program management, evaluation and contracting management, and environmental and science diplomacy including promoting renewable energy solutions. He taught courses at the Foreign Service Institute and overseas in Bangladesh, India, Nepal and Kathmandu on consular fraud and consular Systems issues.

Senior program evaluator overseeing the implementation of the Department's evaluation program enabling the Department to develop a robust program evaluation system.Coordinated training program training over 200 people in three yearsLaunched community of practice (CoP) web page (word press) with over 300 participants, greatly expanding the ability of State program evaluators to conduct program evaluations. Conducted meta-evaluation of completed foreign assistance evaluations insuring that the Department’s evaluations provided critical program improvement data.

Deputy Political Economic chief, - Bridgetown, Barbados

Served as the deputy political economic chief covering political, economic, labor , environment and science and commercial diplomacy efforts in the Eastern Caribbean. Received labor officer of the year award for work in setting up regional training programs in occupational safety issues, and meeting with labor leaders in all seven countries greatly expanding our labor diplomacy outreach; Initiated two American Chambers of Commerce organizations, Conducted fund raising in support of Embassy’s July fourth celebrations, the first time held in multiple countries, raising $100,000 over a three year period; Conducted training programs in all seven countries demonstrating to hundreds of locals on how to access U.S. Government export financing programs . . CA/FPP Deputy Training Team Coordinator – Washington, DC,Taught consular fraud prevention courses at the Foreign Service Institute, and in Bangladesh, India, Nepal, Pakistan, greatly increasing knowledge and skills in fraud detection. Launched Lexus Nexus public record database access for consular officers worldwide, therefore dramatically improving consular fraud prevention efforts, Initiated first interagency Fraud Working Group coordinating fraud efforts among Departments of Homeland Security, State, and Labor. Received Cash Award.Deputy Consular Chief, - Mumbai, IndiaOversaw American citizen services, immigration visas in fifth largest operation in the world and fraud prevention programs greatly improving management of each. Supervised and mentored 15 junior officers and 50 local staff resulting in each unit receiving group cash awards. Received two cash Meritorious Honor awards for my work helping American citizens facing crises including helping American citizens whose family members died in India, or were arrested. Organized task force that dealt with aftermath of worst earthquake in 50 years.

Read more →8 stories • 1 lists • 1 lists • 5 groups

My Poems (224)AutorankLinksI don't get itI don’t Get It

Mr. Speaker I admit I don’t get it How does praye Stop gun violence?

Prayer did not work in Texas. 26 people were murdered while praying.God if he exists Obviously does not care About the poor people Who died in his church

Because a mad man Got a gunAnd no they were not praying To be delivered from death No one deserves to die like this

So my prayer to you Is simply this Get off your rear end Rally the countryAnd do something

Mr. President You are wrong once again You said that the tragic events in Texas And Las Vegas were not “gun situations” But rather were mental health problemsAnd that in Texasif there had been no gun controlsPerhaps fewer people would have died

Mr. President I know you a smart man The smartest man in the world

According to youSo please contemplate this fact According to the latest findings It is a gun situation

In fact, the reason the U.S. Has so many gun deaths Is because we have so many guns 45% of the worlds guns in factAnd 33 percent of the world’s shooters Are Americans killing other AmericansAnd most of them

the majority of them Are White men killing other peopleNot Islamic terrorists

Most are in fact Self-proclaimed ChristiansSo Mr. President When will you come to your sensesAnd do what 90 percent of the public wants

Enact nation wide effective gun controls?And tell the NRA they can take their blood money elsewhere

the President’s chief of staffsaid the other day it was absurd to suggest that the president’s words had anything to do with recent mass shootings

yet is it absurd to see the lengths to which the President’s supporterswill twist and turn spinning awa ythe inconvenient truthPresident Trump is a racist bigot con man who some how conned his way to become Presidenthe call immigrants criminals, vermin, animals invaders infesting the countrythe El Paseo shooter said that he went to the border to shoot the invaders and said that he was a big Trump fanit is not absurd to connect these two huge dotsThe President’s words have real world consequences

they matter a lot and is it little wonder that people listen to the hate you sprew forth

and some deranged people take action on your call for actionagainst the invaders on the border

they march to the border to **** the invadersyour words matter Mr. President

and your false words of regretfool no one the damage has been done the hate has been spread just as you intended

and you have the gall to call yourself A Christianyou are the anti-Christ you are not a Christian so please quite pretending to be what you are not

please man up accept your responsibility set things right apologize

the dead though don’t need your prayers they need action they need leadership

and you are the president so please start acting like you give a ****

and if you do so perhaps you will find people will follow youbut please quite the words of hate

the words that hurtand quit calling immigrants invaders and vermin

they are human beings they are deserving of respectthis I ask of you In Jesus’s name even though I am not a Christian another day, another shooting

Another Day Another Shootinganother day in paradisejust another day in AmericalLand of the freeHome of the brave

and gunshots, lots of gunshots more guns for all cries the NRA

yes another dayanother gun battle another white manwho just wants to ****

the President sends his condolences Thanks the law enforcement for an incredible job well done It was horrible

Hate has no placein our countryand we will take of it and do what ever we can docondolences nothing but false words empty words lots of things to doit is mental illness problem but he fails to mentionthe words gun at alnot at alland tomorrow and tomorrow but he at least finally said hate has no role in country nothing but prime BSin my humble opinion

he did not mention white supremacy his rhetoric had nothingnothing to do about this at all

and so tomorrowI will turn on the TV and we seenothing at all

and the dead will remain dead the guns will fire again nothing will be donewelcome to America land of the free home of the brave

The retail and fashion industries offer a lot opportunities but there are challenges and stiff competition. To stay ahead, retail and fashion stores need to offer the latest and best quality products at competitive prices. The job can be get done through professionals called merchandizing managers or merchandizers who play a vital link between the vendors and the customers.

Merchandizing managers are professionals who select the products to be sold keeping in mind the requirements of targeted customers. These managers are usually employed by boutiques, departmental stores, malls and retail outlets.

Merchandizers work closely with buyers to identify any upcoming trends. The main focus of a merchandizer is to ensure that the departments or stores for which they work meets its sales targets and earns a healthy profit. If margins are below expectations, they need to analyse the reasons and alert management about the problems.

Though the field of merchandizing does not require any specific degree but a bachelor's degree in business, merchandizing or similar field is preferred. A student can further pursue master's or a doctoral degree for better prospects. Also, merchandizing manager must possess good knowledge of the company and customer needs, industry awareness, presentation and negotiation skills, a confident personality and innovative ideas. Merchandizing is a challenging field, hence the merchandizing manager should be able to provide effective solutions for various problems.

"The scope of merchandizing is huge. Unfortunately, there are hardly any merchandizing companies in Nagpur. You don't need a specific background to enter this field. Any person with good communication skills and the ability to learn can excel in the field," said Prashant Siriah, director of city-based Global Merchandize and Logistics.

"The biggest challenge of this field is to meet customer's demands. The market is huge. I feel there is dire need to boost merchandizing industry in the city. Being a garment merchandizer, I would suggest students to be stay updated with the latest trends and traits of retail markets," said Pooja Bembi, garment merchandizer, owner B Different boutique.

"Merchandizing has a huge market outside Nagpur. We began from Nagpur but are business is now set in Bengaluru. We have seen the industry grow. As an experienced professional, I can only say that merchandizing has a lot to offer. Students should be open to explore. Out of the box thinking and excellent management skills are qualities a merchandizing managers need to have," said Nikhil Pandey, co- founder of Thinkstrokes, Bengaluru.

"People who want to join this industry need to have complete interest in it. I am passionate about my work. It's important because once you come into this industry you have to create your own path. I feel as merchandizers we need to come up with innovative ideas to cater to the interest of today's generation who are so much aware of fashion and apparels," said Anmol Huda, garment merchandizer, SWAG Store, Nagpur.

Merchandizing offers a decent pay scale. It offers steady growth to people having the right skills and attitude but one needs to be patient.

(Reporting by Shrushti Wanare)

STUDENT QUOTES

I think fashion is something you create. You work on it. It's more than theory. It challenges your creativity. It's not when I read books but it's when I sit with the outfits I understand its details. Merchandizing interests me. It has multiple layers to experiment with. I am particularly more inclined towards garment merchandizing.

Gundeep Kalra | fashion and merchandizing, Indian national institute of fashion designing,

I am pursuing fashion designing. I wish to study fashion further and I think merchandizing as an industry offers good opportunities as well as bright financial prospects as a career. It tests your imagination skills. It is a very indulgent course. A student needs a mix of creative potential and aptitude to excel in this field.

Heaven knowsWe’re about more than cash clothes and hosBut you’d never know that I supposeFrom those negative images the media showsOr by looking at the latest rap videosWith every other woman in ‘em over exposedYou’d never know that’s not the way it goes

If you don’t mind I’d like to keep it realBy telling you exactly how I feel Cos it’s high time that you heard the dealYou’re being exploited for your *** appealThey got you showin your body to everyoneEspecially the parts that don’t get no sunAnd you’re telling yourself you’re just having funIt’s only gonna serve to get you doneThink you’re gonna get rich (someone lied)All you’re gonna be is objectifiedAnd when they get done (cast aside) Or told there’s a pole that you can rideIs that what you really want (you decide) Don’t cha know that’s not what life’s aboutBy now I woulda thought you had figured it out

Cos heaven knowsWe’re about more than cash clothes and hosBut you’d never know that I supposeFrom those negative images the media showsOr by looking at the latest rap videosWith every other woman in ‘em over exposedYou’d never know that’s not the way it goes

Fifty thousand hanging around your neckOver-drafted at the bank can’t write a checkAnd once they’ve recouped here’s what to expectYou’ll be lucky to hold on to your drop top LexYou’re used to livin like the rich and famousNow you’re walkin around dazed and aimlessFormer fans approaching askin what your name isAnd the worst thing about it what the actual shame isGot you thinking that’s the way life’s supposed to be And you’re tryin to go to bed with every ** you seeYou can’t separate what’s real from fantasyAnd you’re wonderin how you caught that STDIt’s high time you settled back down to earthAnd analyzed what the hell all of it’s worthA string of baby’s mamas who have given birthWill only make you dig deeper inside you purse

Heaven knowsWe’re about more than cash clothes and hosBut you’d never know that I supposeFrom those negative images the media showsOr by looking at the latest rap videosWith every other woman in ‘em over exposedYou’d never know that’s not the way it goes

Right about now you should get the pictureSuccess came along and when it bit chaIt changed sumthin in ya – that you won’t admit toLike fallin for the things that are bound to get chaThe parties the girls who never say noA prescription for disaster now you’re doin blowAnd goin to places that you shouldn’t goBet you didn’t think you could stoop that lowBut there you are now and neverthelessNone of those things bring you happinessMoney ain’t the answer but you’d never guessWhen you spent all of that time reaching for successDid the thought occur to you it might be a testFrom the Man Up Above (The One Who Knows You Best)Now you’re miserable but you won’t confessThough everyone can see that you’re a ****** mess

Heaven knowsWe’re about more than cash clothes and hosBut you’d never know that I supposeFrom those negative images the media showsOr by looking at the latest rap videosWith every other woman in ‘em over exposedYou’d never know that’s not the way it goes

So now you’re on top but what you go and doSumthin real stupid now look at youBein perp walked like you’re in a zooSee the man had a plan now he’s come for youSo you shake you’re head ain’t that a *****Why’s it always the lawyers who come out richYou never would have guessed that your man’s a snitchBut he cut a deal so the feds scratched his itchNow your career’s buckwheats (going down the drain)I can imagine the thoughts goin through your brainNow you’re lookin for God to come and explainAnd I sympathies bro cos I feel your painTry though you may in an attempt to please usMaybe what you need is to get close to JesusWhat’s God is God’s and what’s Caesar’s Caesar’sSometimes we’re given things as a way to tease us

Heaven knowsWe’re about more than cash clothes and hosBut you’d never know that I supposeFrom those negative images the media showsOr by looking at the latest rap videosWith every other woman in ‘em over exposedYou’d never know that’s not the way it goes

your hands glued to the latest PDA device,hands glued along with your eyes,seems you cling to your PDA for dear life,like it’s as important as a TAH, what’s a TAH look it up,

it’s a Total Artificial Heart,you are the “art” in artificial,since when did Personal Displays of Affection PDAs,get replaced with Personal Digital Assistants,

no way phones could be the new PDAs I can’t accept that,oh well I guess it’s the perfect sign of the times,people used to show affection & kiss in public,now they don’t even notice & the only kisses given are emojis,

no romance they don’t even hold hands show love or show up,

would rather ******* in silence than deal with this,& maybe that makes me part of the problem,see I could go out & try to socialize but I stay inside instead,& don’t even mind ‘cause most people aren’t worth the stress,plus it’s been so long since I’ve been in a relationship, if I met someone I wouldn’t even know what to say anyways,we replaced Empathy with Apathy eye contact with iPhones,now we’re all bored Cyborgs & alienated Androids,

we keep avoiding each other instead of enjoying each other, we keep assuming we are annoying each other, which prevents us from successfully joining each other,so we effectively self isolate ourselves from one another,

one step closer to an Anti-Social New World Order New Age,every time we become afraid & walk away instead of engage,

would rather scatter than talk to someone, in a way that could be construed as rude,so we just walk-on & ignore every single someone,even though one of those someones is you,

in the Narcissistic Network of this Sociopathic Society,where the only certainty is that this cycle of denial is ******,what the fck, totally stuck, mind fckt & ******,into that lil cancer causing PDA your hot little hands hold,

Steve Jobs got cancer,you think that’s a random freakin’ coincidence,people that work with electronic devices their whole lives,get sick & this is not just a few examples of isolated incidents,

it’s not a rumor that consumers get tumors from electronics,

even Stevie Wonder could see how Stevie Jobs got sick,died in his mid 50’s alone & in bed thin as a stick,

all those billions couldn’t save him,so what makes you think you’ll survive,why should I care how you live if you don’t care how you die,think you’re saving time on that portable electronic device,but you’re living a lie wasting your life not saving your time,because no one ever regrets spending less on screen time, but people often regret not spending more time,in nature attention undivided with loved ones by their side,before they die, going to do you a favor, save you the trouble,of spending your whole life chasing things on a digital screen,I’m going to quote Steve Jobs’s last words here,so you can start making changes now before it’s too late.

“I have come to the pinnacle of success in business.In the eyes of others, my life has been the symbol of success.However, apart from work, I have little joy. Finally, my wealth is simply a fact to which I am accustomed.At this time, lying on the hospital bed & remembering all my life, I realize all the accolades & riches of which I was once so proud, have become insignificant with my imminent death.In the dark, when I look at the green lights, of the equipment for artificial respiration, feel the buzz of their mechanical sounds, I can feel the breath of my approaching death looming over me.Only now do I understand that once you accumulate enough money for the rest of your life, you have to pursue objectives that are not related to wealth.It should be something more important:For example, stories of love, art, dreams of my childhood.No, stop pursuing wealth, it can only make a person into a twisted being, just like me.”…

See, now you’ve heard it directly from a genius,so there you go don’t say I didn’t tell you so,still you hear the final words of a brilliant billionaire, & instead if take his advice you say “Who cares?”,

& that is actually a serious question, who cares?

Probably not me or you so why would we heed a warning, no matter how wise the words were that were wrote,we’re too busy trying to find fake treasures on Pokemon Go, or read the latest news or scroll the latest posts,

seems all those Apples & Androids, have made us apathetic,bit the forbidden fruit, in The Garden of Electronic Eden, **** streaming has replaced actual ***, it takes less effort, exchanged intimacy for IoT, replaced *** with EMFs,

no ******* just internet no farmer’s markets on weekdays, just products on eBay & freebased sympathy that’s synthetic,so we don’t feel the vibration of our brothers & sisters, we just feel the vibration of our phones in our pocket,we don’t notice the signs of our civilization in decline,we just notice our phone’s notifications when they go off,

see the more connected we become to the virtual world,the less connected we become to the actual world,

& I’m having a melt down, witnessing everyone on their cell phones,& I want to find a reason to believe in a real person to love, but I feel like hope is gone & we’re all just lost without a home,& I’m just as guilty as the rest of us,‘cause I’m often also lost in the zone on my phone like a drone,

& I’m not religious but maybe we really do need Jesus, maybe I really do need Jesus, what the fck, wait, Jesus, has nothing to do with this,

a whole new generation of users has been created,through the use of new additions of cell phones & laptops,& some of the users are as young as 8 years old,computers are the new & improved evolution of crack rock,but family’s are so used to their kids using that they just shrug,even though their kids are so addicted that they can’t stop,

some even enable kid’s addiction by buying them new editions,

cracked screens from dropping your phone, gives you a minor heart attack,oh how attractive cancer seems when it’s attractively wrapped,in the form of an impersonal personalized phone case artifact,

Silver, Gold or Grey, SnapChat is the new black.

What the fck, hands glued to the latest PDA device,hands glued along with your eyes,seems you cling to your PDA for dear life,like it’s as important as a TAH, what’s a TAH, look it up,

look up look up,you are alive in a body on these beautiful lands,mathematically a 1 in 400 trillion chance of being born,you’re literally the most amazing miracle you could ever have!

There’s a whole world out there,please find someone to get to know & love,because there’s probably someone right next to you right now,that’s willing to give you their all & it’s obvious,

all you have to do to see is set down your phone & look up!If you’d only just look up!

But, you’re too busy playing Pokemon Go to notice love,

I know, we’re part of a 1st World society,& we all play our part by being passively compliant,in order to be an accessory to our country’s atrocities,so we get dressed up with the latest techno accessories,

I know,you don’t want to think about it too much,because then you might feel guilty, so you stay out of touch,keeping your head down like you’re mourning a lost love,there’s an actual psychological condition for this, Cognitive Dissonance is what it’s called,

so you stay on your phone, not wanting to get involved,because it’s easier to simply not feel,won’t even make eye contact just want to be left alone,because you’re conditioned to fear anything that’s real,

insecure & scared of the unknown you cling to your phone,

even though, it’s the things we’re most comfortable with that usually **** us,cars cigarettes alcohol cell phones,I’m telling you addiction to technology is a serious illness,

as we begin to decay into a mediated medicated mental illness.

Do you even remember, what you did on your phone yesterday,do you even remember, what you did with your emotions yesterday,do you even remember,when the last time was you felt real emotions,do you even remember, the last time you did anything to help the world?

What is there left to believe in when nothing feels right?

Feels like,we are losing touch with everything that makes us human,emotions experienced in artistic expressions are leaving,we have no attention span & cyborg robots do most thinking,

as we steadily slip into an artificial abyss remember this,

I Love You,

& it scares you when I tell you, like all real emotions scare you,& then I tell you I want to take that phone you hold, & throw it into the ocean,& you finally look up from your phone after all this time, stare me in the eyes glare & say, “How dare you!”,like you’re defending your phone, as if it’s a part of your very existence you were born with,like you’d hate a fellow animated human, for destroying an inanimate object, that’s the Devil’s trick,because when we’ve lost all emotions only hatred lingers,desperate I’ll take hatred over nothing if that’s all that’s left,

& I’m the biggest hypocrite of all,because I say all this about technology,but here I am writing these words on this laptop,& offering advice but not offering apologies,

maybe I’ll really realize someday, when someone shakes me & wakes me from my digital daze,either that or when I’m all alone about to go home in the sky,on that death bed quoting the last words of Steve Jobs,

“Stop pursuing wealth, it can only make a person into a twisted being, just like me…”,

Wow.

Can you hear me now?

No you probably still don’t hear me,because you’re likely on your phone reading this right now,

your hands glued to the latest PDA device,hands glued along with your eyes,seems you cling to your PDA for dear life,like it’s as important as a TAH, what’s a TAH look it up…

“As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits which be Angels of Light are augmented not only by the Divine Light of the Sun, but also by our common Wood fire: and as the celestial Fire drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire of Wood doth the same.”

COR. AGRIPPA, Occult Philosophy, Book I. chap. v.

“Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,Arrives the snow; and, driving o’er the fields,Seems nowhere to alight; the whited airHides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end.The sled and traveller stopped, the courier’s feetDelayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sitAround the radiant fireplace, enclosedIn a tumultuous privacy of storm.”

EMERSON

The sun that brief December dayRose cheerless over hills of gray,And, darkly circled, gave at noonA sadder light than waning moon.Slow tracing down the thickening skyIts mute and ominous prophecy,A portent seeming less than threat,It sank from sight before it set.A chill no coat, however stout,Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,A hard, dull bitterness of cold,That checked, mid-vein, the circling raceOf life-blood in the sharpened face,The coming of the snow-storm told.The wind blew east; we heard the roarOf Ocean on his wintry shore,And felt the strong pulse throbbing thereBeat with low rhythm our inland air.

Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, —Brought in the wood from out of doors,Littered the stalls, and from the mowsRaked down the herd’s-grass for the cows;Heard the horse whinnying for his corn;And, sharply clashing horn on horn,Impatient down the stanchion rowsThe cattle shake their walnut bows;While, peering from his early perchUpon the scaffold’s pole of birch,The **** his crested helmet bentAnd down his querulous challenge sent.

Unwarmed by any sunset lightThe gray day darkened into night,A night made hoary with the swarmAnd whirl-dance of the blinding storm,As zigzag, wavering to and fro,Crossed and recrossed the wingàd snow:And ere the early bedtime cameThe white drift piled the window-frame,And through the glass the clothes-line postsLooked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.

So all night long the storm roared on:The morning broke without a sun;In tiny spherule traced with linesOf Nature’s geometric signs,And, when the second morning shone,We looked upon a world unknown,On nothing we could call our own.Around the glistening wonder bentThe blue walls of the firmament,No cloud above, no earth below, —A universe of sky and snow!The old familiar sights of oursTook marvellous shapes; strange domes and towersRose up where sty or corn-crib stood,Or garden-wall, or belt of wood;A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed,A fenceless drift what once was road;The bridle-post an old man satWith loose-flung coat and high cocked hat;The well-curb had a Chinese roof;And even the long sweep, high aloof,In its slant spendor, seemed to tellOf Pisa’s leaning miracle.

A prompt, decisive man, no breathOur father wasted: “Boys, a path!”Well pleased, (for when did farmer boyCount such a summons less than joy?)Our buskins on our feet we drew;With mittened hands, and caps drawn low,To guard our necks and ears from snow,We cut the solid whiteness through.And, where the drift was deepest, madeA tunnel walled and overlaidWith dazzling crystal: we had readOf rare Aladdin’s wondrous cave,And to our own his name we gave,With many a wish the luck were oursTo test his lamp’s supernal powers.We reached the barn with merry din,And roused the prisoned brutes within.The old horse ****** his long head out,And grave with wonder gazed about;The **** his ***** greeting said,And forth his speckled harem led;The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked,And mild reproach of hunger looked;The hornëd patriarch of the sheep,Like Egypt’s Amun roused from sleep,Shook his sage head with gesture mute,And emphasized with stamp of foot.

All day the gusty north-wind boreThe loosening drift its breath before;Low circling round its southern zone,The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone.No church-bell lent its Christian toneTo the savage air, no social smokeCurled over woods of snow-hung oak.A solitude made more intenseBy dreary-voicëd elements,The shrieking of the mindless wind,The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind,And on the glass the unmeaning beatOf ghostly finger-tips of sleet.Beyond the circle of our hearthNo welcome sound of toil or mirthUnbound the spell, and testifiedOf human life and thought outside.We minded that the sharpest earThe buried brooklet could not hear,The music of whose liquid lipHad been to us companionship,And, in our lonely life, had grownTo have an almost human tone.

As night drew on, and, from the crestOf wooded knolls that ridged the west,The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sankFrom sight beneath the smothering bank,We piled, with care, our nightly stackOf wood against the chimney-back, —The oaken log, green, huge, and thick,And on its top the stout back-stick;The knotty forestick laid apart,And filled between with curious art

The ragged brush; then, hovering near,We watched the first red blaze appear,Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleamOn whitewashed wall and sagging beam,Until the old, rude-furnished roomBurst, flower-like, into rosy bloom;While radiant with a mimic flameOutside the sparkling drift became,And through the bare-boughed lilac-treeOur own warm hearth seemed blazing free.The crane and pendent trammels showed,The Turks’ heads on the andirons glowed;While childish fancy, prompt to tellThe meaning of the miracle,Whispered the old rhyme: “Under the tree,When fire outdoors burns merrily,There the witches are making tea.”

The moon above the eastern woodShone at its full; the hill-range stoodTransfigured in the silver flood,Its blown snows flashing cold and keen,Dead white, save where some sharp ravineTook shadow, or the sombre greenOf hemlocks turned to pitchy blackAgainst the whiteness at their back.For such a world and such a nightMost fitting that unwarming light,Which only seemed where’er it fellTo make the coldness visible.

Shut in from all the world without,We sat the clean-winged hearth about,Content to let the north-wind roarIn baffled rage at pane and door,While the red logs before us beatThe frost-line back with tropic heat;And ever, when a louder blastShook beam and rafter as it passed,The merrier up its roaring draughtThe great throat of the chimney laughed;The house-dog on his paws outspreadLaid to the fire his drowsy head,The cat’s dark silhouette on the wallA couchant tiger’s seemed to fall;And, for the winter fireside meet,Between the andirons’ straddling feet,The mug of cider simmered slow,The apples sputtered in a row,And, close at hand, the basket stoodWith nuts from brown October’s wood.

What matter how the night behaved?What matter how the north-wind raved?Blow high, blow low, not all its snowCould quench our hearth-fire’s ruddy glow.O Time and Change! — with hair as grayAs was my sire’s that winter day,How strange it seems, with so much goneOf life and love, to still live on!Ah, brother! only I and thouAre left of all that circle now, —The dear home faces whereuponThat fitful firelight paled and shone.Henceforward, listen as we will,The voices of that hearth are still;Look where we may, the wide earth o’er,Those lighted faces smile no more.

We tread the paths their feet have worn,We sit beneath their orchard trees,We hear, like them, the hum of beesAnd rustle of the bladed corn;We turn the pages that they read,Their written words we linger o’er,But in the sun they cast no shade,No voice is heard, no sign is made,No step is on the conscious floor!Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust,(Since He who knows our need is just,)That somehow, somewhere, meet we must.Alas for him who never seesThe stars shine through his cypress-trees!Who, hopeless, lays his dead away,Nor looks to see the breaking dayAcross the mournful marbles play!Who hath not learned, in hours of faith,The truth to flesh and sense unknown,That Life is ever lord of Death,And Love can never lose its own!

We sped the time with stories old,Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told,Or stammered from our school-book lore“The Chief of Gambia’s golden shore.”How often since, when all the landWas clay in Slavery’s shaping hand,As if a far-blown trumpet stirredDame Mercy Warren’s rousing word:“Does not the voice of reason cry,Claim the first right which Nature gave,From the red scourge of ******* to fly,Nor deign to live a burdened slave!” Our father rode again his rideOn Memphremagog’s wooded side;Sat down again to moose and sampIn trapper’s hut and Indian camp;Lived o’er the old idyllic easeBeneath St. François’ hemlock-trees;Again for him the moonlight shoneOn Norman cap and bodiced zone;Again he heard the violin playWhich led the village dance away.And mingled in its merry whirlThe grandam and the laughing girl.Or, nearer home, our steps he ledWhere Salisbury’s level marshes spreadMile-wide as flies the laden bee;Where merry mowers, hale and strong,Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths alongThe low green prairies of the sea.We shared the fishing off Boar’s Head,And round the rocky Isles of ShoalsThe hake-broil on the drift-wood coals;The chowder on the sand-beach made,Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot,With spoons of clam-shell from the ***.We heard the tales of witchcraft old,And dream and sign and marvel toldTo sleepy listeners as they layStretched idly on the salted hay,Adrift along the winding shores,When favoring breezes deigned to blowThe square sail of the gundelowAnd idle lay the useless oars.

Our mother, while she turned her wheelOr run the new-knit stocking-heel,Told how the Indian hordes came downAt midnight on Concheco town,And how her own great-uncle boreHis cruel scalp-mark to fourscore.Recalling, in her fitting phrase,So rich and picturesque and free(The common unrhymed poetryOf simple life and country ways,)The story of her early days, —She made us welcome to her home;Old hearths grew wide to give us room;We stole with her a frightened lookAt the gray wizard’s conjuring-book,The fame whereof went far and wideThrough all the simple country side;We heard the hawks at twilight play,The boat-horn on Piscataqua,The loon’s weird laughter far away;We fished her little trout-brook, knewWhat flowers in wood and meadow grew,What sunny hillsides autumn-brownShe climbed to shake the ripe nuts down,Saw where in sheltered cove and bay,The ducks’ black squadron anchored lay,And heard the wild-geese calling loudBeneath the gray November cloud.Then, haply, with a look more grave,And soberer tone, some tale she gaveFrom painful Sewel’s ancient tome,Beloved in every Quaker home,Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom,Or Chalkley’s Journal, old and quaint, —Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint! —Who, when the dreary calms prevailed,And water-**** and bread-cask failed,And cruel, hungry eyes pursuedHis portly presence mad for food,With dark hints muttered under breathOf casting lots for life or death,

Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies,To be himself the sacrifice.Then, suddenly, as if to saveThe good man from his living grave,A ripple on the water grew,A school of porpoise flashed in view.“Take, eat,” he said, “and be content;These fishes in my stead are sentBy Him who gave the tangled ramTo spare the child of Abraham.”Our uncle, innocent of books,Was rich in lore of fields and brooks,The ancient teachers never dumbOf Nature’s unhoused lyceum.In moons and tides and weather wise,He read the clouds as prophecies,And foul or fair could well divine,By many an occult hint and sign,Holding the cunning-warded keysTo all the woodcraft mysteries;Himself to Nature’s heart so nearv That all her voices in his earOf beast or bird had meanings clear,Like Apollonius of old,Who knew the tales the sparrows told,Or Hermes, who interpretedWhat the sage cranes of Nilus said;A simple, guileless, childlike man,Content to live where life began;Strong only on his native grounds,The little world of sights and soundsWhose girdle was the parish bounds,Whereof his fondly partial prideThe common features magnified,As Surrey hills to mountains grewIn White of Selborne’s loving view, —He told how teal and loon he shot,And how the eagle’s eggs he got,The feats on pond and river done,The prodigies of rod and gun;Till, warming with the tales he told,Forgotten was the outside cold,The bitter wind unheeded blew,From ripening corn the pigeons flew,The partridge drummed i’ the wood, the minkWent fishing down the river-brink.In fields with bean or clover gay,The woodchuck, like a hermit gray,Peered from the doorway of his cell;The muskrat plied the mason’s trade,And tier by tier his mud-walls laid;And from the shagbark overheadThe grizzled squirrel dropped his shell.

Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheerAnd voice in dreams I see and hear, —The sweetest woman ever FatePerverse denied a household mate,Who, lonely, homeless, not the lessFound peace in love’s unselfishness,And welcome wheresoe’er she went,A calm and gracious element,Whose presence seemed the sweet incomeAnd womanly atmosphere of home, —Called up her girlhood memories,The huskings and the apple-bees,The sleigh-rides and the summer sails,Weaving through all the poor detailsAnd homespun warp of circumstanceA golden woof-thread of romance.For well she kept her genial moodAnd simple faith of maidenhood;Before her still a cloud-land lay,The mirage loomed across her way;The morning dew, that dries so soonWith others, glistened at her noon;Through years of toil and soil and care,From glossy tress to thin gray hair,All unprofaned she held apartThe ****** fancies of the heart.Be shame to him of woman bornWho hath for such but thought of scorn.There, too, our elder sister pliedHer evening task the stand beside;A full, rich nature, free to trust,Truthful and almost sternly just,Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act,And make her generous thought a fact,Keeping with many a light disguiseThe secret of self-sacrifice.

As one who held herself a partOf all she saw, and let her heartAgainst the household ***** lean,Upon the motley-braided matOur youngest and our dearest sat,Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes,Now bathed in the unfading greenAnd holy peace of Paradise.Oh, looking from some heavenly hill,Or from the shade of saintly palms,Or silver reach of river calms,Do those large eyes behold me still?With me one little year ago: —The chill weight of the winter snowFor months upon her grave has lain;And now, when summer south-winds blowAnd brier and harebell bloom again,I tread the pleasant paths we trod,I see the violet-sprinkled sodWhereon she leaned, too frail and weakThe hillside flowers she loved to seek,Yet following me where’er I wentWith dark eyes full of love’s content.The birds are glad; the brier-rose fillsThe air with sweetness; all the hillsStretch green to June’s unclouded sky;But still I wait with ear and eyeFor something gone which should be nigh,A loss in all familiar things,In flower that blooms, and bird that sings.And yet, dear heart! remembering thee,Am I not richer than of old?Safe in thy immortality,What change can reach the wealth I hold?What chance can mar the pearl and goldThy love hath left in trust with me?And while in life’s late afternoon,Where cool and long the shadows grow,I walk to meet the night that soonShall shape and shadow overflow,I cannot feel that thou art far,Since near at need the angels are;And when the sunset gates unbar,Shall I not see thee waiting stand,And, white against the evening star,The welcome of thy beckoning hand?

Brisk wielder of the birch and rule,The master of the district schoolHeld at the fire his favored place,Its warm glow lit a laughing faceFresh-hued and fair, where scarce appearedThe uncertain prophecy of beard.He teased the mitten-blinded cat,Played cross-pins on my uncle’s hat,Sang songs, and told us what befallsIn classic Dartmouth’s college halls.Born the wild Northern hills among,From whence his yeoman father wrungBy patient toil subsistence scant,Not competence and yet not want,He early gained the power to payHis cheerful, self-reliant way;Could doff at ease his scholar’s gownTo peddle wares from town to town;Or through the long vacation’s reachIn lonely lowland districts teach,Where all the droll experience foundAt stranger hearths in boarding round,The moonlit skater’s keen delight,The sleigh-drive through the frosty night,The rustic party, with its roughAccompaniment of blind-man’s-buff,And whirling-plate, and forfeits paid,His winter task a pastime made.Happy the snow-locked homes whereinHe tuned his merry violin,

Or played the athlete in the barn,Or held the good dame’s winding-yarn,Or mirth-provoking versions toldOf classic legends rare and old,Wherein the scenes of Greece and RomeHad all the commonplace of home,And little seemed at best the odds‘Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods;Where Pindus-born Arachthus tookThe guise of any grist-mill brook,And dread Olympus at his willBecame a huckleberry hill.

A careless boy that night he seemed;But at his desk he had the lookAnd air of one who wisely schemed,And hostage from the future tookIn trainëd thought and lore of book.Large-brained, clear-eyed, of such as heShall Freedom’s young apostles be,Who, following in War’s ****** trail,Shall every lingering wrong assail;All chains from limb and spirit strike,Uplift the black and white alike;Scatter before their swift advanceThe darkness and the ignorance,The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth,Which nurtured Treason’s monstrous growth,Made ****** pastime, and the hellOf prison-torture possible;The cruel lie of caste refute,Old forms remould, and substituteFor Slavery’s lash the freeman’s will,For blind routine, wise-handed skill;A school-house plant on every hill,Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thenceThe quick wires of intelligence;Till North and South together broughtShall own the same electric thought,In peace a common flag salute,And, side by side in labor’s freeAnd unresentful rivalry,Harvest the fields wherein they fought.

Another guest that winter nightFlashed back from lustrous eyes the light.Unmarked by time, and yet not young,The honeyed music of her tongueAnd words of meekness scarcely toldA nature passionate and bold,

Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide,Its milder features dwarfed besideHer unbent will’s majestic pride.She sat among us, at the best,A not unfeared, half-welcome guest,Rebuking with her cultured phraseOur homeliness of words and ways.A certain pard-like, treacherous graceSwayed the lithe limbs and drooped the lash,Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash;And under low brows, black with night,Rayed out at times a dangerous light;The sharp heat-lightnings of her facePresaging ill to him whom FateCondemned to share her love or hate.A woman tropical, intenseIn thought and act, in soul and sense,She blended in a like degreeThe ***** and the devotee,Revealing with each freak or feintThe temper of Petruchio’s Kate,The raptures of Siena’s saint.Her tapering hand and rounded wristHad facile power to form a fist;The warm, dark languish of her eyesWas never safe from wrath’s surprise.Brows saintly calm and lips devoutKnew every change of scowl and pout;And the sweet voice had notes more highAnd shrill for social battle-cry.

Since then what old cathedral townHas missed her pilgrim staff and gown,What convent-gate has held its lockAgainst the challenge of her knock!Through Smyrna’s plague-hushed thoroughfares,Up sea-set Malta’s rocky stairs,Gray olive slopes of hills that hemThy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem,Or startling on her desert throneThe crazy Queen of LebanonWith claims fantastic as her own,Her tireless feet have held their way;And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray,She watches under Eastern skies,With hope each day renewed and fresh,The Lord’s quick coming in the flesh,Whereof she dreams and prophesies!Where’er her troubled path may be,The Lord’s sweet pity with her go!The outward wayward life we see,The hidden springs we may not know.Nor is it given us to discernWhat threads the fatal sisters spun,Through what ancestral years has runThe sorrow with the woman born,What forged her cruel chain of moods,What set her feet in solitudes,And held the love within her mute,What mingled madness in the blood,A life-long discord and annoy,Water of tears with oil of joy,And hid within the folded budPerversities of flower and fruit.It is not ours to separateThe tangled skein of will and fate,To show what metes and bounds should standUpon the soul’s debatable land,And between choice and ProvidenceDivide the circle of events;But He who knows our frame is just,Merciful and compassionate,And full of sweet assurancesAnd hope for all the language is,That He remembereth we are dust!

At last the great logs, crumbling low,Sent out a dull and duller glow,The bull’s-eye watch that hung in view,Ticking its weary circuit through,Pointed with mutely warning signIts black hand to the hour of nine.That sign the pleasant circle broke:My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke,Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray,And laid it tenderly away;Then roused himself to safely coverThe dull red brands with ashes over.And while, with care, our mother laidThe work aside, her steps she stayedOne moment, seeking to expressHer grateful sense of happinessFor food and shelter, warmth and health,And love’s contentment more than wealth,With simple wishes (not the weak,Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek,But such as warm the generous heart,O’er-prompt to do with Heaven its part)That none might lack, that bitter night,For bread and clothing, warmth and light.

Within our beds awhile we heardThe wind that round the gables roared,With now and then a ruder shock,Which made our very bedsteads rock.We heard the loosened clapboards tost,The board-nails snapping in the frost;And on us, through the unplastered wall,Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall.But sleep stole on, as sleep will doWhen hearts are light and life is new;Faint and more faint the murmurs grew,Till in the summer-land of dreamsThey softened to the sound of streams,Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars,And lapsing waves on quiet shores.Of merry voices high and clear;And saw the teamsters drawing nearTo break the drifted highways out.Down the long hillside treading slowWe saw the half-buried oxen go,Shaking the snow from heads uptost,Their straining nostrils white with frost.Before our door the straggling trainDrew up, an added team to gain.The elders threshed their hands a-cold,Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokesFrom lip to lip; the younger folksDown the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled,Then toiled again the cavalcadeO’er windy hill, through clogged ravine,And woodland paths that wound betweenLow drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed.From every barn a team afoot,At every house a new recruit,Where, drawn by Nature’s subtlest law,Haply the watchful young men sawSweet doorway pictures of the curlsAnd curious eyes of merry girls,Lifting their hands in mock defenceAgainst the snow-ball’s compliments,And reading in each missive tostThe charm with Eden never lost.We heard once more the sleigh-bells’ sound;And, following where the teamsters led,The wise old Doctor went his round,Just pausing at our door to say,In the brief autocratic wayOf one who, prompt at Duty’s call,Was free to urge her claim on all,That some poor neighbor sick abedAt night our mother’s aid would need.For, one in generous thought and deed,What mattered in the sufferer’s sightThe Quaker matron’s inward light,The Doctor’s mail of Calvin’s creed?All hearts confess the saints electWho, twain in faith, in love agree,And melt not in an acid sectThe Christian pearl of charity!

So days went on: a week had passedSince the great world was heard from last.The Almanac we studied o’er,Read and reread our little storeOf books and pamphlets, scarce a score;One harmless novel, mostly hidFrom younger eyes, a book forbid,And poetry, (or good or bad,A single book was all we had,)Where Ellwood’s meek, drab-skirted Muse,A stranger to the heathen Nine,Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine,The wars of David and the Jews.At last the floundering carrier boreThe village paper to our door.Lo! broadening outward as we read,To warmer zones the horizon spreadIn panoramic length unrolledWe saw the marvels that it told.Before us passed the painted Creeks,A nd daft McGregor on his raidsIn Costa Rica’s everglades.And up Taygetos winding slowRode Ypsilanti’s Mainote Greeks,A Turk’s head at each saddle-bow!Welcome to us its week-old news,Its corner for the rustic Muse,Its monthly gauge of snow and rain,Its record, mingling in a breathThe wedding bell and dirge of death:Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale,The latest culprit sent to jail;Its hue and cry of stolen and lost,Its vendue sales and goods at cost,And traffic calling loud for gain.We felt the stir of hall and street,The pulse of life that round us beat;The chill embargo of the snowWas melted in the genial glow;Wide swung again our ice-locked door,And all the world was ours once more!

Clasp, Angel of the backword lookAnd folded wings of ashen grayAnd voice of echoes far away,The brazen covers of thy book;The weird palimpsest old and vast,Wherein thou hid’st the spectral past;Where, closely mingling, pale and glowThe characters of joy and woe;The monographs of outlived years,Or smile-illumed or dim with tears,Green hills of life that ***** to death,And haunts of home, whose vistaed treesShade off to mournful cypressesWith the white amaranths underneath.Even while I look, I can but heedThe restless sands’ incessant fall,Importunate hours that hours succeed,Each clamorous with its own sharp need,And duty keeping pace with all.Shut down and clasp with heavy lids;I hear again the voice that bidsThe dreamer leave his dream midwayFor larger hopes and graver fears:Life greatens in these later years,The century’s aloe flowers to-day!

Yet, haply, in some lull of life,Some Truce of God which breaks its strife,The worldling’s eyes shall gather dew,Dreaming in throngful city waysOf winter joys his boyhood knew;And dear and early friends — the fewWho yet remain — shall pause to viewThese Flemish pictures of old days;Sit with me by the homestead hearth,And stretch the hands of memory forthTo warm them at the wood-fire’s blaze!And thanks untraced to lips unknownShall greet me like the odors blownFrom unseen meadows newly mown,Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond;The traveller owns the grateful senseOf sweetness near, he knows not whence,And, pausing, takes with forehead bareThe benediction of the air.

Written in 1865

In its day, 'twas a best-seller and earned significant income for Whittier

I really love my *****,even in the morningwhen It is a little stiff.Even when It smiles at meand I really have to ****.Oh, yes I love my *****and I think you'd love It too!

I really love my *****,even in the afternoon,when It sits so peaceful and tells me them stories of days gone by,of them maidens with oh so shining hair.Oh, yes I love my *****and I think you'd love It too!

I really love my *****in the latest nightsIt lets me let off steamand fall asleep with ease. I really love my ***** and you would love It too,if just HE had a *****,half as good as mine!

O how I recall with joy a visit to Jackson, proud capital of Mississippi,The land of the fearless fatties, the glorious land of the uber-obese,A paradise enjoying amazingly high blood pressure and diabetes rates,Thanks to the greed and gluttony of its 'proud-to-be-portly' inhabitants.

How delightful to stroll along its leafy boulevards, admiring the advertisingFor junk food shops: "Super-Size Your Deep Crust Giant Pizza for only $1!""Real Men love our Emperor Size Cheeseburgers, King Size is for Kids!"And "Come Try Our All Day Giant Breakfast with Triple French Fries!"

How enchanting to see furniture stores offering discounted extra big sofas,Builders and carpenters with their cut-price floor-strengthening deals,Tailors' shops with their displays of buffet pants and elasticated jeans,Realtors promoting houses with double porches and wide internal doors.

But most wondrous of all, the myriad rival Pentacostal ChapelsWith their guaranteed reinforced concrete padded sofa-pewsAnd their portrayals of plump Jesuses to make the fatties feel at home.And all those "funeral parlors" with their gaping super-wide caskets.

How I loved the blinking stares of the sleep-deprived bible studentsAs they staggered out of an architectural wonder of a chapel,Bleary-eyed after an all-night bible study session, and all eagerFor a healthy breakfast of a dozen flash-fried sugar encrusted "donuts".

I was there in this glorious world centre of ever-escalating obesityWith my latest gorgeous lady love (at only 140 pounds and five foot two,possibly the slimmest woman in the entire Jackson Metropolitan Area)And we decided to try some good ol' Mississippi fine dining as a treat.

Holey Moley! What a feasts on offer: pan-fried catfish, deep-fried catfish,Steaks the size of an encyclopaedia and all accompanied by unlimited fries!Sweet potato and pecan pie with butter, sugar, eggs and extra cream,And Mississippi Mud Pie with its chocolate crust and sticky chocolate filling!

(The chef de cuisine in our upscale diner told us that Southern cookshad created this wondrous dessert because its sophicated ingredientswere available cheaply and the recipe required only minimal culinary skill,and what's more it came with a treble serving of supermarket ice cream!)

We declined the bottomless cup of watery coffee with compulsory sugarAnd enquired if we might have a bottle of his finest wine. Quel faux-pas!The dear fatso was mortified and told us his was a Christian establishmentAnd strong drink was frowned upon. Did we think he was a degenerate?

That night we lay bloated like beached whales in our tasteful motel room(its bed reinforced with ferro-concrete to deal with the horrid possibilitythat any gargantuan visitors might wish to copulate vigorously);Oh how we burped and farted, longing for a dose of bicarbonate of soda.

All good things come to an end so, after a nessy session on the toilet(we filled it thrice), we bade farewell to the desk clerk and sloped off."Be sure y'all come back real soon," he declared, patting his fat gut,"Cuz you both sure do look two real skinny Limeys, ya hear me?."

As we drove out of this elegant city that steamy Southern summer mornIn our rented 4X4 super-strong chassis Land Rover, how we smiledAt the scene outside Walmart where the special offer of the dayWas five pounds of free candies with every single assault rifle sold.

But alas! And alack! Tragedy was not so very far away that day:Some corpulent teenagers toppled off the sidewalk under my auto's wheelsIn their indecent haste to take advantage of the latest McDonald's bargain:A quart of complimentary Dr Pepper's with a whole oven-fried McTurkey.

Oy! What a horrid mess my fender made of their pudgy, mottled fleshAnd how wise we were to speed off before the cops arrivedAt least, we avoided being beaten us to a pulp for being leftist libtardsCome to laugh at the dear redneck ways south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

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Summer, Day 1.Do you know how much I love you?One day you will. One day you will.I haven't even seen you yet, but I am so in love with you.

When the time comes for us to finally be together, I will drive us somewhere outside this concrete jungle to ask you that. Then I will tell you to look at the stars, and you will try to count them, even if you already know that not enough stars were created to compare it to.

Darling, I dance and I sing and I shake in delight at the thought of being with you. I'm a morning person now, because I know that every waking moment is one day closer to forever.

Summer, Day 2.I have sworn to save every part of this heart for you. I've loved before, but not like this. Not like this. My stone-heart now made flesh beats as if I'd just been born, as if I'd been made to love and to be loved by you.

Summer, Day 3.I can't believe you chose me. I can't believe I'm going to get to marry you. We've got quite a long way to go, but I'm already preparing, making sure my dress will be as white as snow, every hair in place, this heart pure and this body untouched until the day I put my hand in yours. I can't wait to see your face when I walk down the aisle. I promise to be the perfect bride, your perfect bride.

Fall, Day 1.I might not write as much as I did during the summer. Life has been getting busier and busier, but I want you to know that I still love you as much as I did from the first day.

Fall, Day 46.I've been spending quite a bit of time with someone. He's clever and says the most interesting things. I feel like we will never run out of words to say to one another. We talk everyday, and the funny thing is sometimes I feel my day isn't complete yet if we haven't spoken. Don't worry, my heart is still yours. Just thought I'd let you know.

Fall, Day 52.I think I love him, but just a little bit. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to cut an inch off of my heart to give to him. It's just an inch less. Surely you won't mind.

Fall, Day 80.He's been with someone else this entire time. It's a good thing I gave him only an inch of my heart, but the rest is bruised. Don't worry, darling, I'll have it fixed in time.

Fall, Day 100.It's still beating, but barely. Maybe I should love a little again. Maybe some warmth will do this heart good.

Winter, Day 15.I think... I gave a little too much.

Winter, Day 50.My latest disaster said my heart was something worth waiting for. Apparently his second hands tick faster than the usual. He left, taking more than I expected he would.

Winter, Day 65.Is a heart supposed to look like this?

Winter, Day 90.I can no longer hear it beating steadily. Some parts have frozen. I have tried to stitch pieces back together and they hold... if you would call it that. There are scars and cuts that haven't healed, swollen bits from the wounds that were infected because I tried to save the poison only to have it lash out and bite me in the back.

Winter, Day 104.What have I done?

Winter, Day 135.Look at it. No wait, don't. There isn't anything left to give you, anything worthy enough to even stand in your shadow. I promised you everything now I give you nothing. You waited for me yet I pursued others, consumed by my lust and my pride, where can I hide that I myself will not see this mess of a heart I've created? Where can I run to that I will not have to see the look on your face when you see what I have left to give you? Do you still want this, this broken vessel, this torn up heart, all the pieces that don't fit, all the stitched up parts? Do you still want me?

Spring, Day 1.You do.

Spring, Day 3.You do because you knew what you were getting yourself into long before you met me, you knew I would break your heart yet you still asked for mine, you do because you are love itself. A death defeating, grave shaking, forgiving, full of grace and mercy, life and righteousness kind of love. This is the love that chose me. Now I choose you.

Spring, Day 5.What have I done to deserve this? As far as the east is from the west, so you have cleared my offense. When others asked for me, they knelt on one knee but you asked nailed to a tree. Now here you are. Despite what I've done you want me to return to you, want me to still have you. And you know what?

Spring, Day 7.I do. And I give my heart to you in absolute surrender and total abandon. Here, though broken and torn, take it and make it new.It was yours all along. I was yours all along.

What is our life? The play of passion.Our mirth? The music of division:Our mothers’ wombs the tiring-houses be,Where we are dressed for life’s short comedy.The earth the stage; Heaven the spectator is,Who sits and views whosoe’er doth act amiss.The graves which hide us from the scorching sunAre like drawn curtains when the play is done.Thus playing post we to our latest rest,And then we die in earnest, not in jest.

What ails thee, pilgrim of the mall,Silent, earthen grief of the fall,Pushing beneath her branded mask A chariot to manage her task?

A writ of habeas corpus on paper:'"Garden rocket," "lamp," and "mirror"' For your inward eye and the terrorOf the still blast of oldhood and timeThat left you with no place but rhyme - And the mall.What ails thee, woman of languageAnd the fall?

Events MarketingInform your followers on the latest update of your business. Whenever there are business engagements, such as trade show or conventions, business owners can notify their followers by uploading images on Instagram. Taking pictures and tagging subscribers in the specific location can boost visits and sales. It is important to be creative in taking pictures. Photogene and ColorSplash are the two most commonly used editing application in Instagram. In event marketing, VIP discounts can be offered to subscribers.

ContestsPeople are looking for excitement and rewards. Holding a contest as an activity is an exciting engagement to attract audience.

GeotaggingInstagram users can use the feature of geotagging in order to tag a specific location as to where the images were shot. For business, customers can be more familiar with the location of the business with the geotagging feature.

Remember that today, the most successful people are known to take advantage of the social media.

You think your children are being educated But they're actually being ego deflated They aren't being taught How to form a thought Because ...That's not good for the machine .

You hear the fringe wordmeditation As if it's some kind of voodoo incantation

Instead they want you to be fed A steady stream of entertainment As a way of keeping containment

Off the GridOff the gridThe inspector said We can't be having that Regulations regulations regulationsThats all he had to sayTruth be known ........he was just a clone Latest model on display

Notice how the men in blue Are becoming almost savage.......In their demeanor As they are primed to follow blind The Crooked MindOf the Master overseer So totally convinced That they never even sensed They never were... ..really A volunteer

Primed and loaded Each one having been pre - coded By the educators in the classrooms

That are The soul burning incineratorsBurning away every trace Of any human emotionsWhile swallowing down Steroid lacedPsychotic mind bending potions

As the rest of us are being fed...... instead Of our daily bread

Mind bending views Prepackaged news To keep us all shuffled up Off center So as to totally confuse

That way we don't ever wonder Why we choose Once we find we're standing In the line to buy the latest toys Keeping our heads filled....with noise

That wayWe don't have any time to think As long as everyone behaves. They'll never know That they are slaves

No shackles , chains or wooden canes To keep the masses in production We have the latest must-haves ...... new introductions.

But time to sit and think...... That's not what the machine wants Us to do !

That's notIn the latest matrix

Silencing the externalIn search of those things That should be ETERNAL

Will make you unfit for societyAs your number is etched IntoThe overseers recorder In this .......THE NEW WORLD ORDER.

Despite repeatedly shaking her pincer... much as a sprightly pensioner might brandish a furled umbrella at a grappling contestant, currently being boo'd at in the red corner... the baby crab stamped her foot in annoyance as she glowered at every passing wave that rolled along the shoreline. In absolving herself of any guilt she may have felt over her prolonged excursion, she had become, even further marooned by a failure to catch a succession of tides back home, an oversight she later confessed, to observe local tide-tables in 'Old More's Almanac...' on sale in all discerning book shops and selected High Street newsagents, priced 10/6d... for unless fluent in the Russian vernacular, it was just about as articulate to the little crab as a map of the Moscow Metro during a blackout, only to have the Rouble finally drop with a throat gagging 'Gaaargh...' clunk, that you were currently standing on the down-line platform, when you should've been stood on the up... as the last train lurched unsteadily out of the station whistling a jubilant entente cordiale... 'wish me luck as you wave me dasvidaniya'.

Still stamping her foot, only now in strict rotation with the other seven, the baby crustacean peered out from beneath the shade of the large pebble, rearing its bulk out of the rockpool like a lollypop-lady's 'STOP'!!! sign, her beady eyes twitching independently, first this way, then the other, cut withering swathes through every cardinal point of the compass that didn't duck quite fast enough, was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the rock-pool in which she found herself tapping her foot in today, would be no less aquatic as any other rockpool that she may find herself still tapping a foot in tomorrow and that the best course of action was simply to stay-put and take the matter up with the local town council, then petition for additional fare-stages to be implemented... and with the cost of shoe leather at current prices... well, with eight legs to consider it would make savings that weren't to be sneezed at.

It wasn't everyday of the week that a young and upwardly mobile baby crustacean had occasion to move both up-market and down the beach, all in the same mouthful... and into what could only be regarded as a desirable, detached beachfront property, a rock-pool of distinction with all available mod-cons. She felt relieved that apart from the occasional day-tripper, who invariably dropped litter wherever they went, that a baby crab of distinction such as herself, was certain to be accepted socially and hob-*** with a new and discerning circle of acquaintances... you only had to take that nice lady earlier in the week, they both seemed to have so much in common... then she would roll up her sleeves and really show the neighbourhood what knitting was all about...

With as much enthusiasm as that of a three year old screaming for an ice-cream in the middle of an heat-wave, Red marched up the beach and as far from his wife's waspish tongue as a lame excuse would carry him, heading back towards the growing crush of holidaymaking fathers who were only there presumably, for the sake of their own children, laying siege to the mobile vendor... only this time, having already stood in the same queue ten minutes earlier, now had a sufficiency of funds to purchase that which he'd unsuccessfully queued for the first time.

After an unspecified time which by his wife's reckoning was grounds for divorce... Red, now laden down with the iced confectionary picked his way through the same throng of fathers who moments earlier had been happily chatting in the queue together, were now enjoying the same berating as the one Red was looking forward to as he made his way back towards the rock pool, juggling more ice-cream than two manly hands could intelligently control... while in a bid for freedom, the rapidly thawing confectionary were hatching plans of their own, ones quite independent from those intended as they embarked upon their meandering exodus, known only to iced creamy desserts on hot sunny days... and into the unknown, roaming across Red's hands and trusting their fate to a far higher authority.

"Did I mention that I was on a diet" snapped his significant other, as she sat licking pistachios from the melting cornet... "don't you ever listen," secretly smiling to herself... "and you did remember to bring Sockeye's water this morning.. didn't you..!" she continued "someone with half as much sense would've stood it in the rockpool to keep cool, I'm sure the little crab wouldn't have objected..!" At the mention of his name, Sockeye with ears far too free-lance to ever consider gainful employment of their own, needed no further persuasion and charged straight through the rock-pool to his mistress's side, walloping the thermos flask for a tail whopping six... bringing his personal batting average so far this holiday to a self congratulatory forty not out... and found the baby crab spluttering flat on her back and having second thoughts on any immediate savings in shoe leather were she to stay.

Generous to a fault, Sockeye now thought to shower everyone's ice cream with liberal helpings of the seashore as several parasitic irritations had Sockeye hard at work serving eviction notices on some of the more exotic zoology that only a patent Bob Martin's would dare to muscle up to... the local wildlife, by the look on his face were having the time of their lives bivouacked behind his left ear, throwing wild parties and disturbing the peace. Cross-eyed, it was only while launching a double pronged assault on the latest settlement of interlopers that Sockeye finally succumbed to his injuries and surrendered to a neighbouring sandcastle... it really didn't do to mention a certain name too loudly at times like these, especially when you just happened to be on the receiving end.

For some strange reason he was undoubtedly in the dog house... they'd shouted at him, which made him sad, all except his little master who had pushed him away... which left him bereft. Sockeye sat down on dads beach-towel and had a long, thoughtful scratch... where had all the fuss gone? he searched for appreciation their faces... his tail gave one disheartened thump before it stopped... and all those little pieces of ice-cream dipped wafer, which up until now had always appeared as if by magic.

Catching sight of one such treat, undoubtedly forgotten by the rock pool, a marauding seagull pulled out of a rolling dive and swooped, at the same instant as two gaping jaws launched themselves skywards... canine jowls quivering bravely in the light sea airs... and not too dissimilar to a heat seeking missile, rose gracefully from the ground to meet it... 'well intercepted..!' as both ears applauded in mid-air... no aerial freeloader was about to skip town with Sockeye's ice cream wafer without paying... leaving one solitary wing flapping its willingness to pay up.

At least it kept her husband in useful employment Tina decided... and mercifully out from under her feet, as she brushed a fragment of affectionate pistachio from her bikini top... she'd have to make sure he went for the ices in future... and without the means to pay for them... a mischievous smile turned the corners of her mouth as she leant towards the beach-bag and invested herself with several more juicy grapes... that everyone who fell within her sphere of influence had been warned well away from... under threat of dire consequence... and it would take a brave man indeed, or a very foolish one... she gave her husband who was sitting well within arms reach a caustic glance... and Tina's particular variety of justice had a very long arm indeed.

growling, gnarly, happy, hard as ice, Hawaian blessed, high as a kite, hippie, hip, hipster, hip hoppy, hot as hell yet strangely sweet as heaven, jazzy, jealous, Kerouac approved, kick ***, kick my ******* *** to Tuesday, kick down the doors and take no prisoners, grown in the Vietnam highlands by exVietcong, Guatemalan grown, kiss ***, illegal in every state, imported from all over the ******* world,

insane, lovely, loony, lonely, lonesome, malodorous mean old rotten, *******, nasty, narcotic, never whatever, never meh, never cold, not approved by the CIA, not approved by DHS, not approved for human consumption by the FDA, not your daddy’s sissified corporate cup of coffee, NOT DECAFE coffee, not your Denny’s truck driver weak as brown water cup of fake coffee, not your establishment friendly cup of coffee, Not your FBI coffee, Not FAKE Herbal coffee substitute, but a real cup of coffee, not your farmer brothers dinner crap, not made in America for Americans, not safe for work, not your Starbucks average expensive overpriced ****** corporate chain cup of coffee, Not pretentious, Not White House approved, not State Department safe, nuclear, Not Patriotic, operatic, Peets’s coffee approved,

paranoid, pornographic, psychotic, pontific, politically aware, rapping, rhyming, right here, right now in River city, rock and roll up the Yazoo, sad, sadistic, sarcastic, sassy, satanic, schizoid, *******, silly, ****, smarmy, smelly, smooth, snarky, snarling, stupid, stinking, sweet as honey, sweat inducing, symphonic, Trump can’t handle this coffee, vengeful, Wagnerian, wicked, with nutmeg and cinnamon swirls, with a hint of stevia, with a hint of vanilla, with a hint of ***, with a hint of whisky, with a hint of cherry, with a hint of fruit overtones, with a hint of drugs spicing up the coffee, spendific, speeding, splendid, superior accept no substitutes, survived the Vietnam war, the Iraq war, the Afghan war, the first and Second Korean war, World War 11, the war on poverty, the war on drugs, the war on black people, the ****** revolution,

Soulful as a summer’s night in MOTOWN- James Brown approved, TOP approved, Berkeley approved, the coffee that Jimmy Hendrix drank before he died, the coffee that Elvis drank on his last breakfast, the coffee that Barry White crooned as he drank his cup of coffee – and the coffee that made the white boy play stand up and play that funky music, the coffee that made Jonny B Goode play his guitar, and made Jonny bet the devil his soul after he drank his morning cup of righteous coffee and the coffee that make the Rolling Stones Rock and Roll, the coffee your mother warned you against drinking, the coffee that Napoleon drank when he became the Emperor of all Europe, the Coffee that Beethoven drank when he wrote the Ninth symphony, the coffee that Mozart drank as he wrote his last symphony, the coffee that Lincoln drank before he was killed, the Hemingway drank before he killed himself, the coffee that started the 60’s, and ended the 20th century,

the coffee that Lenin drank as he plotted revolution, the coffee that ****** and Stalin drank with FDR as they divided up the world after World War 11, the cup that JFK drank before he was blown away, the coffee Jerry drinks while driving in cars with random celebrities and political figures, the coffee that Jon Stewart drinks before he goes on an epic take down of some foolish politico, the cup of Arabic coffee that Sadaam drank the day he was executed, the coffee that GW and Cheney drank when they bombed Baghdad, the Indian cup of coffee that Bid Laden drank before 9-11 and just before the seals blew his *** to hell, the cup of coffee that Tiger Woods drank with his mistresses while playing a 3, 000 dollar round of golf at Sandy Lane golf course in Barbados, the last legal drug that does what drugs should do, the cup of coffee that Obama drank when he became President, Vietnamese, Vienna brew, wacky, whimsical,

Whisky Tango Foxtrot, wild, weird, wonderful, WOW, Yabba dabba doo! Yada Yada yada Zappa’s favorite cup of cosmic coffee, and Zorro’s last cup of coffee, Good to the last drop rolled into one simple cup of hot coffee As I pound down that first cup of coffeeAnd fire up my synaptic nerve endings with endless suppliesOf caffeine induced neuron enhancing chemicals

I face the dawning day with trepidation and mind-numbing fearI turn on the TV and watch the smarmy newscasters in their perfect hair

Lying through their perfect blazing white teethabout the great success the government is havingFollowing the great leader's latest pronouncements

I want to screamand shoot the TVand run out side

ShoutingStop the world!I want to getoff this ******* crazy planet"

The earth does not care a whitabout my attitude problem

It merely shrugsand moves around the SunIn its appointed daily run

the universe whispersin my eartime to drink more coffeefor an attitude adjustment

And I sit downThe madness dissipating a bitAnd enjoy my second cupOf heaven and hellIn my morning cup of Joe

Coffee Revolutions

coffee cupCoffee led to the American Revolution<spanAs patriots drank coffeeTo rebel againstthe aristocratic English tea

Coffee started the London Stock MarketAnd started the gossip mills runningEvery great inventionWas fed by coffee's sweet brewsweet allure

All the great thinkersAll the great leadersAll were enslavedto coffee's magic

I sing my praisesOf the greatglorious coffee lady

Long may she continueTo be my sweet companion

Long may coffee continueTo rule my heartAnd set my hearton fire

Ode to Coffee

Mistress of sacred loveSacred lady of desire

You start my daySetting my heart on fireWith your dark delicious brew

And throughout the dayWhenever the mean old blues come byYou chase them away

Senteno Oracle Of The Shadows: So Aziel what's your plan with Frank?Aziel: Well he is going to help me destroy the Order Of The Silver Knights and in return I shall help him get the Witch who cursed the Forest Of Whispers. Senteno Oracle Of The Shadows: Well I'll give you some valuable information who your looking for is Bethilda N. Lement. She is a very powerful Witch who with her Elemental Plowness is able to obtain what she wants. Aziel: Well well ...so the Old Hag still holds the grip over the Forest doesn't sheSenteno Oracle Of The Shadows: Indeed she isn't someone to take lightly now she is well rounded and knows how to fight. She controls The Tavern Of Doom Dragons. In her possession are 3 fully grown Dragons. Blair the Oldest Dragon Claire The Mother Dragon and Aurora the youngest one of them three.Blair the Black Dragon Claire The White Dragon and Aurora the Stone/Lighting Dragon. Many have meet their doom entering in her territory Cyclop Human and Vampire Alike. Aziel: I don't have anything to fear.

~Meanwhile...~

Bethilda Lement: Adreanna I want you to learn more about my Dragons start training with Aurora but be cautious she may be only three years old but she is powerful and robust. Lement screeches then Aurora hovers over the Mountain Of Shen* where the Tavern Of Doom Dragons is located. Adrianna Develve places a strong spell in the Dragon Aurora she finally succumbs to her authority. Adrianna and Aurora go take down the Golem Of Steel in the Hidden Ruins Of Odom.* The Golem stands 15 ft high weighs 2,500 pounds. Holding a crest of an almost impenetrable diamond in the middle of his chest. Emanating from the Crystal comes all his power and it's his only weak spot. Then Aurora and Adrianna make an impressionable entrance to the ruins and attack the Golem head on. Golem Of Steel: Here stands the infamous Adrianna Develve...well isn't this a surprise. I see that you have grown some and are able to maintain your powers well to face me. I know what you want you want the Crystal in my chest...that will be over my dead body. Audon's Crystal* is powerful enough to consume 1000 Well Trained Witches therefore young Witch you don't scare me. Now as for that Dragon well ... perhaps you stand a chance after all. Adrianna Develve: I usually don't pick fights with powerful DemiGods like yourself but I am in desperate need for your Crystal. Therefore, you will hand it over or I'll take it by force. Golem Of Steel: Good Luck.Aurora shields herself with Stone Armor and goes head on collision with the Golem. He dodges the attack and counterattacks with a strong fist to the Dragons body and knocks Aurora down cracking part of her Stone Armor. The young female Dragon counterattacks with a powerful lighting blast hitting The Steel Golem in the right shoulder injuring him. Develve attacks with a powerful mind blast knocking down the Golem Of Steel on it's back. The Golem Of Steel bleeds blue blood out of his shoulder blade and runs full force towards Adrianna Develve. She dashes the attack and counterattacks with a Shadow Ball attack hitting him in the chest and expanding all over its body. It's a possession Ninjutsu technique making him practically paralyzed for about 2 minutes till he breaks free from the technique but sustains a considerable amount of damage. Adrianna Develve seeing that the Golem Of Steel is showing a sign of weakness she takes advantage to try to inflict him with a spear of lighting into the chest impairing him and he bleeds out the mouth but as the last resolution The Golem Of Steel punches the Audon Crystal shattering it into 5 individual pieces him losing his life in the process however what he didn't know is that Adrianna Develve collected all the pieces however there was a violent explosion at the site shattering huge boulders of steel and inflicting Aurora gravely. Adrianna Develve hurries and performs a powerful healing spell leaving her drained of all power. Adrianna Develve hurries to get out of the ruins because they are crumbling down. She manages to recover Aurora briefly from there they fly to The Tavern Of Doom Dragons Of Doom Dragons right when she pulls in with Aurora who is injured from the boulders hitting her body and face at high velocity even the Rock Armor was perforated. The Dragon lands barely with Adrianna Develve who gets the Wrath of Granny Bethilda N. Lement. Aurora breathing heavily and bleeding out the mouth slipping in and out of consciousness ...Adrianna Develve barely getting off the Dragon. Bethilda Lement: What the hell happened to Aurora she is in really bad shape. Adrianna your completely drained I see you did good by healing her however, she must rest for about 3-4 days now and fully recover from that gruesome fight with that **** Golem Of Steel. Adrianna are you Ok darling? Go get some rest I see you used the forbidden technique of Soul Healing Transfer. Well now you'll live 12 years less thanks to your little sharede. Develve I am thankful that you saved my Dragon from dying but hell consequences are quite dire. Develve: Here Granny Lement I got Audon's Diamond however it's shattered in 5 separate pieces. Bethilda N. Lement: Let me guess the Golem Of Steel did not want this to fall under the wrong hands for it is a powerful relic. Smart move buying time however, useless due to the fact that we got the diamond under our possession. Adrianna we are going to search the Master Forger Of Relics* who can aid us recover this valuable relic to it's original state. It's said that he resides in one of the headquarters of the Order however, he has worked with Witches, Pagans and Nacromancers before so am sure that as long as we provide the right monetary value to repair the relic he'll work for us.Develve: Why don't we just kidnap him and make him do the work or he pays with his life?Lement: Good objective it may have to work that way for us.Develve: Im aware that the Cyclop population in the Village Of Chalekathan are not taking your threats seriously well ElderLord Gromm has not paid his fee from allowing them to live and not be consumed by the curse itself. Lement: By killing him we can set an example of what can happen to them if they don't cooperate with our cause. Develve: It dangerous though he is a strong Leader with lots of powerful influences. Plus he is a highly skilled Witch Doctor/Shaman able to manipulate the forces of nature. Known to use 3 Godly Deities Aikune Chalekathan & Eion. Aikune the cherubim of the Northern Side Of Heaven. Chalekathan the Spirit God embodiment of The Forest Of Whispers and last but not least Eion the mythical creature with an Eagle face 6 wings and the body of a Lion. Embuted with heavenly essence making him a very formidable foe. Develve: We will take care of our responsibilities soon but our primary mission is to talk Ayeiton Balderoux III* the Master Forger Of Relics. : Whoa had no idea he was The Kings kin.Lement: Indeed he is now go and lay your head and recover some energy because we need to practice your magical plowness.Adrianna heads towards the Guest Room.

~Meanwhile in The Forest Of Whispers~Frank Deltoro gets introduced to Gromm ElderLord Of Chalekathan by Jhino. He also introduces Navarro Castleworth who is pleased to meet the famous Elder.Gromm: Hello young man I am the protector of this village which has sustained numerous attacks by Lement's Dragons. Develve also partook enthusiastically with her Grandmother in attacking innocent hard working Cyclops. Making them slaves of the Curse which drives them mad and homicidal attacking friends brothers and family so we had to do the inevitable put them down.Nevertheless, I pray to Deynave Dion High Saint/Priestess Queen Of All Shamanism to protect the lost souls of them Cyclops who fought the curse till the very end but unfortunately lost the fight and in turn lost their lives.Frank: My condolences to your friends ElderLord Gromm.Am sure they in a better place now at least not suffering. However, I have a personal matter to score with Lement. She kidnapped and murdered my only daughter 10 years ago she was a...his voice gets trembly and he lightly clears his throat..at the same time a solid solo tear drops from his only Eye symbolizing a Fathers great pain and suffering from such an atrocious act." Gromm regains his composure. I got a personal score to settle with Mrs.Lement due to the fact that she took a piece of my heart and soul she killed my daughter. Develve played her part in the kidnapping of my baby girl 10 years ago she would be 18 years old today if Shaila Dair Sultran were alive...her appointed time to be brutally killed by my hand is coming...Bethilda N. Lement has been suppressing her powers for the last 300 years I believe she has some sort of powerful anti-chi barrier put up extending tremendous lengths so even if she is active in The Forest Of Whispers we wouldn't know how to tell due to this **** barrier. Frank: So your bloodline comes from the Ancient times from the powerful Cyclop Of Royal Priests/Witch Doctors family Sultran. "A gentle wind blows and Aziel telepathically communicates with Frank. Aziel: Frank, be careful where you thread I been informed that Lement's Grand-Daughter Adrianna Develve recently gathered Audon's Crystal a powerful diamond known to give its user Bending Steel abilities and higher sustainability. Adrianna Develve has plans to use the Crystal to fully cover the Forest Of Whispers covering every inch of Forest with the Curse which drives all living creatures with a conscious mad totally subseptable to their influence. However, to you those must be terrible news so my question is...you been in Chalekathan Village for 1 hr and a half you have 5.3 hrs till daylight removing the Darkness powers you currently control.Frank: I am aware of this Aziel don't worry I'll take care of business. Aziel: Keep an eye out Navarro I don't trust him I don't know what intentions he has...plus he is part of that shady Tower Of Frejoird but perhaps you can use his hatred towards the Order Of The Silver Knights. He can maybe be a reliable source. Be careful Frank.

~Meanwhile in Aziel Castle~Isis: Well...Aziel aren't you such a concerned individual...I didn't know you had a soft spot towards mere humans. Aziel: I usually don't...but Frank is different from the rest. He is courageous trustworthy and he put his life at risk by helping me regain all my vampiric power. I am in much debt to him...am having second thoughts on your plans to **** him after he completes his assignments that we have agreed upon. If he makes it out alive after all this...he at least deserves a reward and to live. Isis: Chuckles at Aziel Aziel looks at the Empress with great focus. Isis: C'mon I'll just have some fun with Frank I wasn't planning to ****** him.Aziel: I'll think about it now leave me be I got couple of things I need to take care of. Isis: Fine Darling I'll leave you be. You know you are the handsomest of all the brothers you have.Aziel: Well now Isis you flirting with me...I doubt you'll want my erected tool up your stash. Don't you remember am a Vampire?Isis: I'm aware of that. Adventure sounds fun plus I never had *** with a hot vampire like yourself.Isis: Well Doll that is going to be some other time I am working against the clock right now. Isis: Fine you *****...I'll leave. However, keep in mind that Im watching you closely. Plus remember I still keep contact with DarkLord for soon your Father will be back in this plane of reality. Aziel: So I have heard. Isis: Well I have found some juicy Information about Uriels wereabouts he is in a Modern Castle in America. Amelia St and Cross. Residency 106. He is a huge celebrity in Russia and Germany. Keeps his bloodlust at check with fresh blood always for him to self medicate. Looking only 19 years old he is quite the chick magnet though not my taste his Gothic Progressive Horror Rock made him quite famous. Got 5 albums however kept his personal life well hidden from his fans. Many fake and supportive accounts claiming to know the real Uriel Governale. Though no one truly knows he is a vampire for certain. I know because I searched the private records and found out that he belongs to a High Ranking Secret Society known as Maximillion Vampire Clan. Which performs innocent human babies to be given as a sacrifice towards Baphomet and Azmodeus* 2 Of the Demon Lords of Hell. Your brother belongs to this hidden organization that operates in the Shadows but their latest project is to revive your Father the Progenitor most infamous VampireLord of all time. Dracula! Humanity will cease to exist if he were to be revived. All they need is a vial of blood from all of the current 8 saints and they have their eye on Saint Lauren Glennwald from the Eastern Side of Germany from a small rural community town known as Hertzentmort. She currently 25 years old is on a mission to collect Papal papers for the Order for you know they are closely tied to the papalcy. However, she got body guards that are Elite Knights with very powerful Anti-Witch spells and very accurate at pinpointing weak points in any battle with powerful Witches. So going alone isn't very advisable.<br>Aziel: I greatly appreciate your information I'll take a look on what my little brother is looking to do. I'll take care of him. Don't you worry I'll be seeing you later. <br>Isis: Alright..."She steps towards Aziel and rubs his chest and says...my reward is waiting for me...and looks down his pants" <br>Aziel: Now your tempting me to destroy that *****... but here this is what you'll get "he shows her his ****"<br>Isis: Mmmm I can't wait baby...well that's a massive apparatus you got in there just hiding.<br>Aziel: Hahaha...right. Soon enough I'll be all yours to play with. No leave me.<br>Isis transforms to a cloud of dark myst and leaves the premises of the Castle.<br><br>~Meanwhile in Uriel's Castle~<br><br>The Maximillion Vampire Club had a secret meeting in the Uriel's Castle. There where many prestigious and famous guests there and so was the Highest Ranking Vampire of the Club Maximillion Virgil Vann himself. Inside the Castle where also uninvited guests from The Order Of The Silver Knights pretending to be Vampires. His name Michael Neil Stalwart & his partner Aalyaah Black. Both of them infiltrated the party somehow the Order Of The Silver Knights caught wind of shady operations in the occult club and decided to check it out. Michael & Aalyaah belong to Stealth/Infiltration part of the Order known as The Dark Ones. Even the last 5 remaining Dark Priests from the Cathedral Of Skylor* where 13 years ago Baphomet was revived and mortalized to walk upon humans granting favors for a price. Ultimately the price Demon Lords require of humans is their souls to consume them and become more powerful. This 5 Dark Priests where very important in the ceremony taking place because tonight at 3 a.m. they will unify their powers to revive Azmodeus. They were successful on bringing back Baphomet back to life so they are trying to revive another Demon Lord. In Baphomet's revival they used 666 unborn fetuses with 6 babies 3 male and 3 female all born under the sign of Capricorn and all must be 3 months premature. With this requirements met...Baphomet was revived to this plane of existence, however since he was violent and still hellbent from transitioning from the hellish plane to a mortal one he killed and consumed 3 Dark Priests in the process of fully coming to his senses and being able to recognize them and thank them for what they done. Baphomet promised that he would aid them 5 Dark Priests revive all 13 Demon Lords and in turn 2 Of the 5 remaining Dark Priests must sacrifice themselves to the Demon Lords for the strongest remaining 3 get a extraordinary reward.

Mine are grapefruit halvesBitterSaltedEasing the transition into awakePerfect juicy handfulsBut I know girls with cantalopesSeems to me you'd need a mapTo navigate thoseAnd hands like Melonballers just to make an impressionRaspberry, Blackberry, Cherry *******A fruit salad of peaches And mangoes and applesIt's a world made for peelersAnd paring knivesI world where a sweet tooth Can thrive

We plant our women in orchardsCultivate them in carefulOrganized rowsWith expert farmers and the latest fertilizersLeading them onInto ripenessHarvested at just the right timeSo that no man ever need know hunger